


In The Eye We'll Stay

by simonetta



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Crime, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Jon and Sansa Are Not Related, Organized Crime, Past and Present, Romance, a little background petyr/sansa but its not serious and doesn't last
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-11-19
Packaged: 2020-11-10 16:16:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 51,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20854643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simonetta/pseuds/simonetta
Summary: Mama told her people couldn’t choose the life they were born into – and she and her siblings had been born into a very specific kind of life – but on the day she turned nineteen, Sansa Stark decided shecouldchoose what life sheled, and that she would not lead one that demanded closed casket funerals and armed guards and her big brother making deals with the devil while wearing that stupid goddamn ring.Five years after Sansa leaves New York, a funeral brings her home.





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> When it rains it pours and when I write I can't seem to stop. 
> 
> To really level up, listen to the The Godfather Waltz while reading this. 
> 
> Title is from Religion by Lana Del Rey because you can't title a mob au with anything other than a Lana Del Rey lyric.

**September 25, 2015  
Malibu, California**

Later, Sansa would always regret not going home for Robb’s wedding.

At the time, however, it seemed like the better decision. 

She hadn’t been home for any Christmases or birthdays or Thanksgivings or even for Easter. She hadn’t gone home when Arya graduated from St. Catherine’s or when Old Nan died or for Rickon’s First Communion or Bran’s Confirmation. 

It wasn’t that she wanted to miss those important days – because she didn’t – but going home for them would mean the same thing that going home for Robb’s wedding would mean: A return to her old life; being dragged back into the world her great-great-great grandfather Brandon had built with blood and bone and bullets over a hundred years earlier. She loved Robb and she missed Robb, but she left New York for a reason. Sansa Stark was as good as dead. Plus, Alayne Stone already had a shoot with Dolce & Gabbana lined up for that weekend. 

Petyr would kill her if she missed it. 

See, despite what Mama may have said when Sansa broke the news over breakfast the morning after Father’s funeral, her move to California wasn’t irrational nor was it unplanned. She’d known that Mama’s sister would take her in (Aunt Lysa had never approved of her sister’s marriage or husband) and what’s more, she knew that Aunt Lysa’s live-in boyfriend (who Mama loved to ironically call Mr. Commitment) was a talent manager for one of LA’s biggest modeling agencies. She also was rather well aware of her own good looks. 

Sure enough, Lysa had allowed Sansa to rent the apartment over her garage and Petyr had agreed to pass her social media accounts and headshots around the office. Within a week she had four gigs lined up and Petyr Baelish himself had signed her as his newest client. A year later, after she found Aunt Lysa hanging from the backyard balcony, Petyr had found her a new place near the beach and even bought her a Mercedes despite the fact she had plenty of money herself. 

Sansa had a nice thing going in California, even if it meant occasionally sucking off Petyr. She didn’t want to ruin that by letting her family pull her back into the Family. 

“I’ll never forgive you if you don’t come home for this,” Catelyn had told her on their monthly phone call back in August. “I will never forgive you and neither will your brothers or sister. You don’t have to be in the business, Sansa, but we are still your family. If your father-”

“He’s dead, Mama. It doesn’t matter what he’d think. Give Robb and Jeyne my love. I’ll ship their gift to the big house.” 

She’d hung up before her mother could respond. 

On September 25th, Sansa went for a run, showered, and got into the car that Petyr sent over to chauffer her to the photoshoot location. While eating her three pieces of sushi at noon, she posted a selfie to Alayne Stone’s Instagram account while resolutely not checking Sansa’s feed. That evening she went to dinner at an overpriced fusion restaurant downtown with some up and coming actor she’d met at Petyr’s last dinner party and that night she let that same up and coming actor eat her out on her white leather couch. At 11:54pm, she sent Robb a text simply saying, “Congrats” before deleting the 25 unread messages from Mama and the voicemail from Bran. At 11:57pm, she woke the up and coming actor for another round. 

*****

**April 5, 1995  
Wintefell, New York**

Sansa’s first funeral was when she was four. 

Oh, there had been funerals before that, but Old Nan had sat with Sansa and Robb in the nursery watching Sesame Street or reading books while their parents hosted the wakes and attended the burials. 

But when Sansa was four the family dog, Lady, died. She cried for days. She asked incessant questions about Heaven and God and St. Peter and if they loved Lady too and if Lady would see Uncle Brandon, who was the only dead person she knew about. 

Two days after Lady died Father woke her and Robb up early and told them to follow him into the woods near the big house. Robb was eight, which meant he was responsible for his baby sister, and he held her hand the whole way. 

Father stopped after a few minutes in a little clearing filled with early spring wildflowers. The little wooden box that Mama had told her was Lady (Something Sansa did not understand at all. There is no way her big, beautiful dog would fit in that boring little box.) sat in the dewy grass next to a little hole that Father must have dug before he woke her and Robb up. 

She watched, bleary eyed, as Father put the Lady box in the hole and covered it up with dirt. He asked Robb to say a prayer because Robb was in Sunday School now and getting ready for his First Communion and he knew much more than Sansa did about Jesus. Then, Father put a hand on her little auburn braids and asked her to pick her favorite flowers from the meadow to put on top of the buried Lady box. 

When the three of them got back to the big house, Mama made lemon scones and blueberry muffins, which were Sansa and Robb’s favorite breakfasts, and then they drove all the way into the city to go to the zoo. 

Sansa still kissed the picture of Lady that Mama had put on the table next to her big girl bed that night. Father had told her that it was Lady in the box that he buried, but Sansa didn’t believe him. It isn’t that she thought he was lying – because Father never lied. He was just mistaken. Lady wouldn’t fit in a box that little and Lady wouldn’t like to be under the dirt. She liked to lay in the sunshine on the grass while Sansa tied ribbons around her neck and sang her the songs from Cinderella and Snow White. 

If Lady was really in that box, she would have left it when she heard Sansa and she would have followed Sansa around that little meadow as she picked flowers. 

Lady was beautiful and kind and patient. 

Lady didn’t belong in the dirt. 

*****

**January 7, 2016  
Las Vegas, Nevada**

When the call came, Sansa was sitting at the slot machine next to her friend, watching and giggling while Shae put another $20 into the gaudy, jungle themed machine. There was a vodka cranberry in her hand and a $300 cashout ticket in her clutch and she and Shae had two more glorious days in Vegas before they had to be back in California. 

The first time her phone rang and Sansa saw Mama’s face on the screen she hit ignore and flagged down a server to order a shot of tequila. 

The second time her phone rang and Bran’s face appeared on the screen she hit ignore again but promised herself she’d call her little brother back once she was sober. 

The third time her phone rang and the words ‘Jon – NY’ popped up, fear began to curl around Sansa’s throat like a snake. 

The sounds of the casino began to fade as Sansa’s world was reduced to the phone in her hand. After a moment, the incoming call notification disappeared, but Sansa continued to stare at the background picture of her favorite Gustav Klimt painting. Dread spread from her heart outwards, filling her veins with an icy and dreadful sense of panic. 

“Alayne? Alayne!” 

Startled, she looked up from the screen. Shae had turned in her chair and was looking at Sansa with concern. “You good? Maybe let’s not do that next tequila shot.” The brunette stood, grabbing Sansa’s arm. “Come on girly, let’s get your money and hit that little taco joint Maege told us about off the Strip.” 

Her phone vibrated again. This time it was a text. 

**Uncle Ben**  
_Call me. Urgent. It’s Robb._

Sansa tugged her arm away from Shae and immediately dialed Uncle Ben’s number as her fingers shook. The room began to spin, but she didn’t think that was the alcohol hitting her system. Uncle Ben answered on the first ring. “Sansa, sweetheart, I’m so sorry.” 

*****

**May 11, 1998  
Winterfell, New York**

Nobody told Sansa about the boy until the morning before he arrived. Mama told her as she set pancakes in front of her. Arya was in Mama's arms resting against the swell of her pregnant belly. 

“You Father is bringing a boy here today. His name is Jon. He’s going to be living with us.” 

Sansa frowned. “You mean I’m getting another brother?”

“No. He isn’t your brother.” 

“Then why is he gonna live here?” she asked between bits of pancake. 

“His mama died. Your Father promised to take care of the boy.” 

Sansa took another bite. “Jon,” she muttered, trying out the way the name sounded in her mouth. “Does Robb know?”

“Yes, he’s going with Father to pick him up.” A shock of jealousy rippled through Sansa at the knowledge Robb had been told before her. 

“How old is he?”

“You’re brother’s age. Maybe a few months older.” 

“What happened to his mama?”

“Cancer.”

“What’s cancer?”

“A sickness. Stop asking questions. And don’t you dare ask him what cancer is when he gets here. Be nice to that boy.” 

Jon Snow was taller than Robb. He was quiet and wouldn’t meet Sansa’s eye and had dark messy hair and grey eyes like baby Arya. It was a full week before he spoke a word to her.

(It wasn’t until she was 8 that Sansa learned that Jon was a Targaryen. It wasn’t until she was 9 that she learned what that meant.)

*****

**January 8, 2016  
Somewhere in the Mojave**

Shae was silent in the driver’s seat, but Sansa could feel her friend’s eyes on her every few minutes. The radio was crackling as quiet pop music faded in and out of the range of their car. Head pressed against the window, Sansa watched the darkened, bare desert pass without really seeing it. 

“I’m so sorry,” Sansa sniffled. “I’m so sorry, Shae.” 

“Layney, don’t you dare apologize right now.” 

“But this trip was supposed to be fun. It was suppose-”

“Alayne,” Shae interrupted, reaching over and grabbing Sansa’s hand. “Fuck the trip, okay? God, the last thing in the world you should be worried right now is ending a trip to Vegas early. Try to get some sleep, okay? We’ll be back in three more hours. I called Petyr back at the hotel. He’s booking you a flight for the morning. I’ll help you pack, okay?” 

Another sob wracked Sansa’s body. She gripped her friend’s hand tighter. 

“I didn’t go. Shae, why didn’t I go?” 

“What are you talking about, honey? You are going.” 

“His wedding,” Sansa cried, finally pulling her hand away from Shae’s and instead covering her face in shame. “I didn’t fucking go to Robb’s wedding even though he begged me to. My mom said he’d never forgive me if I didn’t go – Shae he died hating me! He died thinking I didn’t care! I should have been there! I should have-”

“Listen to me, Layney, your brother did not die hating you. And I don’t know much, but from what you _have_ told me, you had a good reason not to go home. Taking care of yourself is okay.” 

Sansa wiped at her eyes harshly. When she pulled her hands away, they were black from her mascara. “It isn’t though,” she whispered, thinking about Robb on the night of Father’s funeral – the look on his face, the ring on his finger, the big leather chair. “That isn’t how it works in my Family.” 

*****

**June 19, 2008  
Winterfell, New York**

As she got older, Sansa slowly figured out what the “family business” her Father always referenced really was – and no, it was not steel manufacturing like they told the government and the world. I mean, sure, that was a _part_ of the “family business,” but when Father met with those scary looking men in their dark suits in his study, it wasn’t to discuss sheet metal. 

By the time she was fifteen, Sansa had a pretty good idea of what was actually discussed in Father’s study and what happened on the nights that Father, Robb, Jon, and Theon didn’t come home for dinner. There were no details of course. The women were never given details (much to Arya’s displeasure), but Sansa had seen the Godfather and Scarface and Goodfellas and a couple episodes of The Sopranos and learned about Al Capone in her AP US History class at St. Catherine’s Preparatory School. She was ranked third in her class, after all. She wasn’t dumb. 

But Sansa was also the _good_ kid, so even on the days when her morbid curiosity about whether Father was like Michael Corleone in all the worst ways consumed her, she’d never ask. Instead she’d smile and kiss Father’s cheek and bring the men their drinks while they played poker in the basement and never, ever questioned how someone died or why there was a bullet hole in Father’s SUV or why she barely ever was allowed to go into the city or why Jory followed her _everywhere_ with that secret gun tucked into the holster beneath his suit jacket. 

See, she knew what the Family – and the family – was, and generally knew what they did, but that was very different from _knowing_. 

The first time Sansa felt she really _knew_ what it was she’d been born into was the night she found Jon Snow covered in blood by the pool. 

She was sixteen and while her father had strict rules about her dating, he had no rules about how long or late she could be on the phone with the boys she’d met at St. Catherine’s end of the year charity social with the boys from Sacred Cross Catholic School. Maybe if he did have rules (or any knowledge about these calls and skype sessions) she wouldn’t have been awake at 3:00 in the morning when Waymar Royce finally said goodnight and hung up. It being the first glorious night of summer vacation, Sansa decided to sneak downstairs and raid the fridge of whatever ice cream Rickon and Arya had yet to consume instead of going right to sleep. 

It was a total accident. Sansa was sure that Jon hadn’t been counting on anyone being awake at that time – at least not anyone other than Father or Robb or even Theon, who for the last year had been sleeping on the couch in the basement for reasons not disclosed to her. She too hadn’t expected to see anyone when she slipped through the sliding (bulletproof) glass door with her half-full pint of lemon sorbet. She just wanted to enjoy the indulgence with her toes in the pool and the stars overhead. With the Stark estate a good thirty minutes outside of Winterfell proper, the darkness made stargazing easy. 

But when she opened the gate to the pool deck, Jon Snow was sitting in one of Mama’s lawn chairs smoking a cigarette. There was a bruise on his jaw and a bloodstained shirt stretched across his shoulders – the broadness of which she had only recently begun to appreciate now that he was nineteen (almost _twenty_) and finally looked like a man, not a boy. 

He’d greeted her with a strangled curse before stamping out his cigarette and nervously running a shaking hand through his messy curls. “You’re supposed to be asleep, Sans.” 

“Is that your blood or someone else’s?”

Jon looked at her for a long moment, as if weighing his options or maybe trying to decide how much Sansa already knew. His dark eyes were a shade darker in the moonlight. Until that night, Sansa had always figured he, like Arya, thought her head was too full of frivolous things to pay attention to the world around her. But that night Jon sighed and told her it wasn’t his blood with a plain, blunt tone that made Sansa realize he _did_ recognize that she wasn’t too vapid or naïve to comprehend the real trade of the honorable Starks and their associates: organized crime (i.e. violence, drugs, embezzlement, and murder).

Strangely, his honesty didn’t faze her. If anything, the confirmation of what she’d already known about her Father and brother and family and Family – and better yet the fact that someone was finally honest with her about it – was liberating.

“Are you okay?” 

“Yeah.”

“Did you kill him?”

Silence for a beat. Then, “I didn’t.” 

Sansa nodded. “Okay.” 

“Okay?”

She sat down next to him, taking care not to touch his shirt, and offered him her sorbet. “Has Father ever killed anyone?” Sansa knew the answer in her gut, but she needed to hear it from Jon’s lips. 

Another beat of silence as Jon took his time bringing a spoonful of her sorbet to his mouth. “Yes.” He handed her back the spoon. Sansa tried to ignore the memory of Mya declaring that sharing the same spoon or fork was practically kissing at lunch a few months ago. 

“Has Robb or Theon?”

“Robb hasn’t.”

“Have you?”

“Not on purpose.”

Sansa stood then (sorbet and stars and summer and Jon Snow’s broad chest all forgotten) and began to walk back to the big house. She didn’t get far before she spun back around and closed the distance between her and Jon once more. Before she could change her mind, Sansa bent down, planted her hands on his cheeks, and kissed him. It was chaste – just an innocent press of lips to lips – and over in twenty seconds, but her lips tingled the whole way back to her room. 

It’d been her first kiss. 

She wasn’t sure why she’d done it. Maybe it was because she’d known him since she was six or because of the way he looked in the moonlight or because he respected her enough to just be honest when nobody else was or because of what Mya had said about sharing a spoon. 

Mostly it was just because she was so, so glad it wasn’t his blood.

*****

**January 10, 2016  
Winterfell, New York**

Uncle Ben picked her up from the airport. To anyone else in the busy terminal, it would look like he was there by himself. But Sansa saw the dozen or so men standing around baggage claim wearing dark suits and shadowy expressions. She recognized the knowing glances. She knew what they were packing beneath their polished appearances. She understood that by the time she and Uncle Ben got out of the city and were heading north, at least three black SUVs would be behind them. There would also probably be a couple in front. 

She’d always had some kind of guard when she was in New York. Now, five years after her father was all but decapitated and two days after her brother was stabbed half a hundred times, she’d be surprised if Jon didn’t call in a favor and have the goddamn National Guard airlift her to the Stark compound. 

Because that was what she assumed – that Jon Snow was now sitting in Father’s leather chair and wearing the gold ring and making plans for both a funeral and at least one hit. Arya was still in college in Vermont (and a girl). Bran was seventeen (and in his chair, which shouldn’t matter but did). Rickon was only eleven. 

Uncle Ben was a possibility, but the fact he was here picking her up meant that he could be spared. The Boss could never be spared. The Boss was always busy. 

No, it had to be Jon unless someone else had risen exponentially fast during her time away. Even if that were the case, though, they wouldn’t have the standing that comes with being raised by Eddard Stark since the age of ten. It had to be Jon. No matter who his father had been. 

“Christ, Sansa, look at you. You’re the spitting image of your mom now, aren’t you?” 

Sansa tried to smile at Uncle Ben but quickly dissolved into tears at his familiar face. In an instant she was wrapped in a tight hug. 

“Come on, sweetheart, let’s get you home.” 

The hour-long drive to Winterfell was quiet, but the big house was quieter.

It was late, so it shouldn’t have been too much of a surprise, but Sansa still had expected _someone_ to be there. Uncle Ben understood her question when she shot him a confused glance. “Jon’s kept everyone at safe houses in the city since it happened. He’s letting things… cool off. They’ll be coming home tomorrow.” Benjen sighed wearily. When he spoke again, he sounded bone tired. “They tried to get your mom too. One of ours shot the shithead before he could do any damage. We don’t think the kids were targeted, but Jon isn’t taking any risks.” 

The fuckers. The whole family had been in the city for Rickon’s birthday. It had happened at the restaurant. Rickon’s favorite restaurant. Little Rickon. Eleven-year-old Rickon. Rickon whose father had died before he ever got a chance to really know him. Rickon who’d idolized Robb even as a toddler. 

“So, it is him, then. Jon’s been picked?” It was more a statement than a question. 

Uncle Ben nodded. “It was in Robb’s will. Bran can’t, which is good. He’s way too young to take over, especially under these circumstances. The kid is smart as can be – he has his pick between Harvard, Yale, and Princeton. It’s good he’s getting out.” _Like you did,_ went unspoken, but Sansa heard it all the same. Uncle Ben had been the only one who supported her decision to leave. “And Rickon’s just a kid.”

“Why not you?”

Benjen shrugged. “Robb asked me. About a week after he took over; when Reed insisted they start work on a will. I didn’t want it. I never have. I’m happy to serve the Family, but I was always content with Brandon or Ned wearing the ring. Besides, Jon was Robb’s righthand. Even if it hadn’t been in the will, the Family would have turned to Jon. Targaryen blood be damned.”

Sansa nodded. “Robb always says Jon is his brother.” Grief shot through her like a bullet. “Said. He always said that.” 

Uncle Ben pulled her into another hug as one of the men from the airport started to carry Sansa’s luggage upstairs. “Get some sleep, sweetheart. Your mom will be here early. The kids in the afternoon. Jon has some business in town, but he should be here later tomorrow. It’s gonna be a small one. Private. Just us and the inner circle. We don’t know who to trust right now.”

Uncle Ben didn’t pull away and for that Sansa was grateful. “He didn’t hate me, did he?” she whispered against her uncle’s chest. “Robb didn’t hate me for leaving and for never coming home?” 

“No, Sansa. Your brother didn’t hate you. None of us hate you. Like your father always said, the pack sticks together.”

_But I left,_ Sansa wanted to say. _Father always said that the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives. The Family is the pack. And I left._

*****

**July 2, 2010  
Lake Ontario, New York**

It started over the Fourth of July the summer after she graduated from high school. Robb managed to convince Father and Mama to let him, his girlfriend Jeyne, Jon, Theon, Theon’s girlfriend Kyra, Sansa, and two of Sansa’s friends from school to drive up to the vacation house on Lake Ontario for the weekend. It was such a rarity that the group could hardly contain their excitement in the week leading up to the trip. Sure, there would be ten armed men surrounding the house at all times, but it was more freedom than Sansa had ever experienced before. Arya was green with jealousy over it. 

What’s more, the boys bought Sansa her own bottle of champagne and let her pick the music for the whole drive because it had been her status as Valedictorian that sealed the deal with her and Robb’s parents. 

Admittedly, it wasn’t out of nowhere – not really. Sansa had become aware that Jon was an exceptionally attractive boy when she was fourteen and he was eighteen and one day she stopped playing chicken with him and Robb and Arya in the pool because sitting on his bare shoulders wearing only her bathing suit felt like way too much way too soon and she was convinced that somehow Sister Mordane would know about the depraved images drifting through Sansa’s head. 

For the most part, she like boys with well-trimmed golden hair and blue eyes and clean jaws and expensive clothing. 

Jon had long curly brown hair so dark it looked black in the right light and grey eyes so dark that they also looked black in the right light and lately he had been growing out his facial hair and he always wore the same dumb black shirts and dumb flannel shirts and dumb blue jeans and dumb combat boots. Even worse he had embraced the whole ‘man bun’ fad lately and Sansa _hated_ that he was able to pull it off. 

She had eyes, okay, and she was an eighteen-year-old (mostly) straight girl who had Jon fucking Snow living in the room above the stables and Jon fucking Snow in her pool almost every day and two years ago she had kissed Jon fucking Snow at 3:00am when he admitted that he had killed before even though it hadn’t been on purpose. 

So yes, Sansa had been harboring a crush on her brother’s best friend for a few years at that point. Even so, when she got in the car on the morning of July 2nd, she did not expect to be returning on July 5th no longer a virgin. After all, Mama raised her to be a good Catholic and she knew to wait until marriage for anything like that. She certainly knew not to fuck her brother’s best friend who she knew had killed at least one person by the time he was twenty in her parent’s boat while her friends and brother slept off the copious amounts of alcohol they’d drunken the night before. 

And yet, that was exactly what happened. 

Well, not exactly. 

It started the first night, when her friend Mya suggested they play truth or dare around the campfire. The game had started innocently enough, but then more beers were consumed, and Theon broke out the weed, and before Sansa knew it the questions and dares were getting raunchier and raunchier. Even Robb’s protests on having to hear and say and do and see things with his baby sister present wasn’t enough to stop the trajectory of the game. Sansa had finished her second solo cup worth of her champagne when she foolishly told Myranda “dare” and, really, she should have known what would happen next because Myranda was the only person in the world that Sansa had told about the kiss. 

“I dare you to make out with Jon.” 

Sansa paled and locked eyes with the man in question, who blushed and quickly looked down at the beer bottle in his hands. 

“For fuck’s sake, Myranda I’m not gonna watch my little sister swap spit with a guy who’s practically my brother!”

“She never said you gotta watch, Robb,” Theon replied with a smirk. He turned and winked at Sansa. “Come on, Jonny Boy. You heard the lady.” 

“It’s Sansa’s dare,” Jeyne laughed. “Jon doesn’t _have_ to do anything.” 

“And he better not do _anything_ if he wants a ride back to Winterfell.” The look Robb shot Jon was rather pointed. 

“Um, what about truth instead?” Sansa asked Myranda. 

Her friend giggled and rolled her eyes. “That’s not how this works, dummy. If your brother is gonna be such a baby about it, I guess you guys can just kiss. It doesn’t have to be, like, a full make out sesh.” 

Sansa watched Jon glance over at Robb whose face was so red it matched his hair. 

“Listen-”

Sansa cut off her brother. “Robb, I’m an adult now. I can make my own decisions.” She watched Jon whip his head back towards her. God. He looked too good in the glow of the fire. “I accept.”

Jon swallowed thickly as she approached him. She watched the bob of his Adam’s apple and did her best to ignore the nerves in her belly. It was dumb to be so nervous. She’d kissed him before. Maybe not in front of her brother and Theon and her friends but still. A kiss was just a kiss. She’d kissed lots of boys. 

Robb groaned loudly and dramatically covered his eyes. Theon imitated cheesy porno music. Myranda and Mya giggled again. 

Sansa wasn’t quite sure how to position herself with Jon in a foldable camp chair, but eventually (due to the champagne, she’d tell herself later) settled on straddling him. He sat stock still, dark eyes watching her carefully. He was frowning, but Sansa tried not to read too much into that because Jon was always frowning. 

When she leaned in, Sansa felt his big, warm hands close on her hips and then all of a sudden she was kissing Jon Snow again but this time it wasn’t for twenty seconds and it wasn’t just a little peck that tasted like lemon sorbet. 

The first kiss was innocent, like the one they’d shared two years earlier. It was quick and dry and Sansa squeezed her eyes a little tighter shut at the feeling of his week old stubble on her skin. Then, Jon’s hands moved to her back to pull her a little closer and then she was kissing him again but this time it was a real kiss and this kiss tasted like the dark German beer he liked and like cigarette smoke and those mints he always seemed to have on hand. Sansa liked the feeling of his hard, solid chest beneath her and squeezed her thighs a little tighter around his waist, a move that earned her a low groan and the sudden hot brush of his tongue on her own (this was a new experience for Sansa because, yeah, she’d kissed plenty of boys, but _none_ had ever used tongue).

Someone coughed and Jon instantly stilled beneath her. His hands left her and the sudden chill without them on her body jolted Sansa back into the moment and the awful realization that she had just made out with Jon Snow in front of her brother and Theon (who she knew would NEVER shut up about it now) and her two best friends. 

She pulled herself off of Jon and tried to not read too much into the fact he wouldn’t meet her eyes. But she did read too much into it because she was eighteen and pretty tipsy and fuck it, why shouldn’t she be able to make out with Jon Snow? When Sansa turned back around to find all eyes on her (aside from Robb who was blessedly still covering his face), she grinned. “A dare is a dare,” she said with a shrug as she grabbed the joint from Mya and dropped back into her chair. 

More than a couple times that night she caught Jon staring at her. She didn’t know if it was the alcohol or the lingering memories of the way he tasted, but his eyes looked hungry in the light of the campfire and Sansa decided she didn’t care anymore about what Sister Mordane would think about the images that crossed her mind. 

*****

**January 11 and 12, 2016  
Winterfell, New York**

Sansa had expected her mother to give her the silent treatment for at least a day. Or maybe to explode in anger the moment they saw each other for the first time. She’d also expected Catelyn to look exactly like she had five years ago. But the Catelyn who was sitting at the kitchen table when Sansa came downstairs on her first morning back in New York was nothing that she’d expected. 

Her mother’s hair was streaked with grey now, and there were new winkles between her brows and under her eyes that made the woman look ten years older than she actually was. 

“Mama?”

When Catelyn Stark’s eyes met Sansa’s they immediately filled with tears. “Oh, my baby,” she cried before closing the distance between them and pulling Sansa into a cinnamon smelling bear hug. They didn’t talk much for the first hour. Instead they sat at the table taking sips of black coffee between rounds of tears. Mama’s hand never left Sansa’s the whole time. 

Uncle Benjen came in from his cottage on the north side of the property around ten with Jory and Howland Reed. 

“Sansa,” Uncle Howland smiled, “aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.” Her father’s oldest friend and the Family’s primary lawyer pulled her into a hug. 

“Are the babies on the way?” Catelyn asked. Her voice was raw and broken in a way that made Sansa feel a little ill. 

Uncle Howland nodded. “I just got off the phone with Jon. They should be here by two.”

Catelyn stared down at her coffee. Howland turned to Sansa. “Jory is going to look after you again while you’re here,” the consigliere told her. 

Jory smiled. “Just like old times.”

“I don’t need a babysitter.” The words came out harsher than Sansa had intended, but she didn’t let that show. She was here for Robb, and for her mother and siblings, but she wasn’t going to let them pull her back into their world. In a week she was flying back to California and then Petyr was going to take her to Fiji. He’d promised her that. 

“Sansa, please,” Catelyn croaked. “It’s for your own safety. If you leave the property Jory is going with you.” 

“Mama-”

“Baby, someone is targeting the Family. I won’t bury another child.”

That shut Sansa up. 

Uncle Howland poured himself a cup of coffee while Jory and Uncle Benjen began making themselves breakfast. “Do you know who did it?” Sansa asked Howland quietly. She ignored the way her mother abruptly looked away; fingers clenched so tight on her coffee mug they looked bloodless.

“Lannister.” Catelyn’s voice was somehow hollow and filled with rage all at the same time. “It was Tywin Lannister.” 

Sansa frowned. “I thought the Family was on with the Lannisters. What happened?”

Uncle Howland exchanged a look with Uncle Benjen and shifted in his chair. “That doesn’t matter. All you need to know is that the Lannisters have been out for blood for a while now. They’re turning the lesser families against us. People who have been working with us on the northside for generations.”

“Who?”

“Bolton,” Jory said from the kitchen. “Frey.” 

Sansa frowned. “I thought Walder Frey and Papa Hoster were old friends?” 

“My father is dead. And Frey has always been as slippery as an eel.” Her mother stood and put her now empty mug in the sink. “We’ve been at war for a year now, Sansa. Ever since…” Mama’s voice broke and she looked away suddenly. In an instant, Uncle Benjen had his arms around her. 

“Ever since what?” Sansa asked, looking to Uncle Howland for an answer. He’d been her father’s right hand. She knew he’d never lie to her – even if it was for her own sake. 

Jory’s phone startled everyone when it rang. “Shit, its Jon.” He slipped out the sliding glass door.

“Two years ago, we got word that the hit on your father was organized by the Lannisters, not Mance Rayder and his goons like we’d thought. There’s some evidence the Tyrells had a hand in it too. Last year, Cersei Lannister’s whelp – Joffrey – was heard bragging about it. It’s been war ever since.” 

Sansa swallowed hard. She remembered Joffrey. She’d dated him for a couple weeks back in high school. She’d thought she might marry him. Then Father had made her break it off. 

“Why, though?” she asked as a tear slipped down her cheek. “Father and Mr. Baratheon were like brothers and the Baratheons and Lannisters are as good as blood now.”

Catelyn scoffed. “Not anymore. Renly overdosed last June. Stannis has taken over.” 

“Ned knew things Cersei didn’t want him to know. At least that’s Robb and Jon’s theory.”

Jory stepped back into the kitchen. “Boss is delayed. He’s not gonna be here until tomorrow morning.”

Suddenly, Catelyn broke down into tears again and hurriedly left the room. Sansa frowned. 

“Dammit, Jory, I told you not to call him ‘Boss’ around her. Not yet. Poor woman.”

“What am I supposed to call him, Benny? He’s the Boss now.”

Uncle Howland put a hand up to silence the other men. “He’s going to be here in time for the wake, though?”

“Of course,” Benjen answered before Jory could open his mouth. “Jon wouldn’t miss his brother’s funeral.” 

Sansa looked down at her hands. It felt stupid to be so nervous about seeing Jon again. Especially given the fact she was here for her big brother’s funeral. Her big brother who had been stabbed fifty-three times. The last thing on her mind should be any worries about lingering awkwardness with Jon. Yeah, they hadn’t parted on great terms, but it was dumb to worry about seeing an ex at your brother’s wake. Besides, Jon wasn’t even a real ex. 

Bran and Rickon arrived at the house just after 2pm. They were followed by Arya fifteen minutes later. If Catelyn’s reaction hadn’t been what Sansa expected, the greetings of her siblings was exactly as she’d imagined. 

Rickon flew to her like a bullet and clung so tightly to her that it hurt. 

Bran shot her that small, strange smile he’d had since he was a boy and said it was nice to see her. 

Arya rolled her eyes and made a beeline for the stairs. 

She was up by 5am the next morning after a restless night filled with horrible dreams. It was after her run through the Stark’s woods, her scalding hot shower, and her third cup of black coffee that she heard the telltale beep that warned anyone in the big house that the gates to the compound had opened. The untouched fourth cup of coffee was abandoned on the counter in an instant. 

He wasn’t alone (of course he wouldn’t be) and for that Sansa was grateful. She wasn’t ready to face him alone. Jon didn’t have social media (of course he didn’t) and though Catelyn had a Facebook profile, she’d never posted anything about Jon (of course she wouldn’t). Sansa had only seen two pictures of him in the five years they’d been apart. One Robb had sent her on Jon’s birthday when Theon shoved Jon’s face into his cake. The second had been in a CNN article naming him as a possible suspect for a double homicide three years ago. That one didn’t really count though, because they’d used his mugshot from that time he was arrested for breaking and entering when he was twenty one and Father had been in Mexico locking down a deal with the Martells, and thus unable to bail (bribe) him out of jail before the mugshot. 

So basically, Sansa hadn’t seen so much as a clear picture of his face since that last fight when to told her he loved her, and she’d slapped him. 

The sea of familiar looking men in various shades of black and grey parted and suddenly he was there in front of the huge, old oak door and Sansa couldn’t help but smile when she saw he still wore dark jeans instead of slacks and those heavy black boots she remembered. Instead of a button up shirt like the men around him, a black knit sweater stretched across his broad chest. 

His dark curls were pulled away from his face and his beard was thicker than he’d been able to grow it before she’d left. 

His shadowy grey eyes were still as beautiful and cryptic as she remembered. 

He was as tall as she remembered too. 

But for all the things that hadn’t changed, so many had. From the self-assured way he carried himself to the long, angry white scar down his face, to the hardened look in his gaze, to the crinkle on his forehead that no twenty-nine-year-old should have. 

Most of all, though, he looked dangerous in a way he hadn’t before. 

It took Sansa a minute to realize they were just staring at each other there in a marbled foyer. She opened her mouth to speak, but a large hand squeezed her shoulder and Uncle Benjen moved past her with a wide smile. “There you are, son. ‘Bout time. You better have brought a suit to change into.” 

“Ben,” Jon nodded, face somehow even more serious than it’d been when he walked in. The sound of his deep, gravelly voice sent a chill through Sansa. Memories of some of the things he’d said to her in that voice flickered in her mind. 

“Is it done?” 

Jon shrugged. “No. I’m saving Slynt for after the service. Grenn is taking him to the house on the Shore. He’s just the surface. Can’t waste the opportunity for more. Come on, we’ve got a lot to discuss.” He gestured to the stairs but before he could move Uncle Ben pointed at Sansa. 

“Little birdy is back.”

Those heavy grey eyes moved from Uncle Ben back to Sansa. With tight shoulders, Jon began to make his way over to her. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. He shut it again and suddenly reached for her hand. The moment her skin touched his everything else in the room started to fade. 

“I’m so sorry, Sansa. I’m here if you need anything. Just let me know.” Then he pulled her hand up to his lips, kissed it gently, turned, and disappeared up the stairs with his men on the way to Father’s study. 

*****

**July 3, 2010  
Lake Ontario, New York**

The morning after the first time Sansa made out with Jon Snow, she sat at the little breakfast nook in her parents’ lake house sipping at her coffee while she, Jeyne, Kyra, Mya, and Myranda gossiped. The boys had gone into town early to pick up stuff for grilling and fireworks for the next night, so naturally the conversation in the nook had devolved into talking about boys. 

Sansa considered herself a fairly confident woman, but when the conversation turned towards sex she began to squirm in her seat. It wasn’t that she minded talking about sex, because she didn’t. One couldn’t be best friends with Myranda and _not_ be comfortable with the topic. She did, however, hate when those conversations turned to discussing sexual exploits as she had nothing to contribute to the table. 

This was a fact that Kyra quickly picked up on, and before too long the whole table kept making comments about pure, innocent, little Sansa. At one point, Mya even jokingly covered Sansa’s ears when Jeyne started talking about her ex. Having been raised to be a gracious host and impeccable socialite, Sansa didn’t let her anger show. She smiled and laughed and played along when they made comments about her inexperience but inside her stomach curled in a mixture of frustration and embarrassment. 

It wasn’t her fault she was a virgin. Her dad barely let her out of the house and when he did Jory was _always_ there if Robb, Jon, Theon, or Father weren’t. Plus, Mya and Myranda had both also gone to St. Catherine’s, so they also knew what Sister Mordane had preached about unmarried girls who gave themselves away to wicked boys. Maybe Sansa tended to follow the rules and was a little bit worried about what Jesus would think and had an overbearing father and hadn’t done anything more than kiss before. So what? 

By the time the boys got home from the store she was seething on the inside. The anger didn’t dissipate until well into the afternoon either. 

That night, the group went down to the private dock with two cases of beer and several packs of cigarettes to lay around and look at the stars. By chance, Sansa happened to lay down next to Jon, who’d had the audacity to go swimming in the lake that afternoon reminding Sansa that he had lots of muscles and chest hair and that wicked, dark little trail of hair that disappeared under the waistband of his swim trunks. As their friends made idle conversation, Sansa remained focused on making sure her arm didn’t brush against Jon’s more often than it should and trying to ignore the way her fingers tingled when Jon passed her his cigarette and their hands touched. 

Sansa tossed and turned in bed for hours that night replaying the conversation around the breakfast nook in her head. The more she thought about it the angrier she got. It wasn’t like it was _hard_ to have sex. Those girls hadn’t accomplished anything she wasn’t capable of doing. She just hadn’t done it yet. But then she thought about Jon and that dangerous trail of dark hair and the way he’d nudged her foot with his own and smirked at her when Theon said something particular stupid on the dock that night. 

She tasted mints and cigarettes and dark beer again. 

With a frustrated huff, Sansa kicked her covers off and pulled an old tshirt over her sports bra and sleep shorts. It wasn’t until she was already halfway down the dock that she realized she wasn’t alone. 

“Fancy meeting you here.”

Jon looked up at her and set his phone to the side. “Shouldn’t you be asleep?” 

It was comical really, how well the situation mirrored that night two year earlier. At least he wasn’t covered in another man’s blood this time. 

Sansa sat down next to him with a shrug. “I couldn’t fall asleep, so I thought I’d come and look at the stars some more. What about you?”

“I have Theon and Kyra on one side of the wall and Robb and Jeyne on the other. Self-preservation drove me out here.”

She crinkled her nose at the thought of her brother and Jeyne. “Gross, thanks for sharing that mental image.” 

Jon let out a low chuckle that did something funny to her insides. Impulsively, Sansa kicked his leg in the water. Just as impulsively, she let her head drop onto his shoulder. Maybe it was the fact he rested his cheek on the crown of her head or the fact he had just brought up the coupling of the couples in the house, but before she could really think through the words she asked the question that had been plaguing her all day. After all, Jon had been honest with her beneath the stars at 3:00am once before. Maybe it would happen again. 

“Do you think it’s weird that I’m a virgin?” 

She felt him stiffen immediately. “W-what?” Jon shifted away and turned to face her with wide eyes. 

“Do you think it’s weird that I’m a virgin?” Sansa repeated. She could feel herself blushing, but it wasn’t like she could pretend she hadn’t asked the question. 

“Why are you asking me that?” 

Sansa groaned and laid back – more so she wouldn’t have to look at him anymore than out of sleepiness. “The girls were making fun of me for it today while you all were at the store. I didn’t think it was weird until then, but they keep acting like I’m this innocent little girl who doesn’t know _anything_. And yeah, maybe I don’t have much experience, but I do know things.” 

“Oh, do you?”

Now it was Sansa who suddenly stilled. _Was Jon flirting with her?_ He seemed to realize what he had said too because he immediately scooted farther away and cleared his throat. 

Sansa pushed herself up on her elbows. 

“It isn’t weird.” Jon said after a pregnant pause. “You shouldn’t be ashamed or anything. When you’re ready, you’ll be ready. If you’re saving yourself or whatever that’s fine. Anyone who judges you for your choices about your body is a piece of shit.” 

She couldn’t help but smile at that. “What about you?” 

Jon finally turned back to her. “What? Am I a piece of shit?” 

“No, dumbass,” Sansa rolled her eyes. “Are you a virgin?” 

“Oh.” He looked away again. “No.” 

“Who?”

“Ygritte.”

An awkward silence fell once more. Sansa laid back and desperately tried to think of something to say to fill the quiet. She tried even more desperately to not picture Jon and Ygritte because the _last_ thing she needed was a mental image of Jon fucking a redhead.

“You know what would be perfect right now? A swim.” 

Jon scoffed. “The water is gonna be freezing. It’s bad enough during the day with the sun warming it.” 

“Party pooper.” Sansa kicked his thigh with her bare foot. Goose pimples broke out across her skin when Jon caught her ankle. 

“Hey, if you want to freeze to death that’s your choice. Go get your swimsuit. I’ll be your lifeguard from my nice warm position here.”

Sansa pushed herself to her feet. She hated how immediately she missed the warmth of Jon’s hand on her ankle. “Don’t be dumb. I don’t need a swimsuit.”

Then, before she could chicken out, Sansa dragged the t-shirt over her head and slipped her sleep shorts off so she was standing on the dock in only her panties and a sports bra that was two sizes too small. Too embarrassed by her own boldness to spare a glance at Jon’s face, she slipped into the water. 

Jon was right. It was fucking freezing. 

“Who are you and what have you done with Sansa Stark?” Jon asked her as soon as she emerged from the cold, dark water. 

She swatted his leg. “Shut up. I have fun. I can be fun.” 

“If this is your idea of fun then I really think you need to reevaluate your life.” 

“I never said that. This is refreshing. Fun is… well last night was fun.” 

For the life of her, Sansa did not know where this streak of boldness was coming from. Maybe there was just something about being around Jon Snow and water in the early morning hours that turned her into someone else. The thought made her smile. It reminded her of the fairytales she’d loved as a kid. 

Jon was watching her carefully from the dock. The moon was to his back so she couldn’t read his expression or the look in his eyes, but something in the air between them felt electric. 

“You gonna come in?” she asked quietly, afraid to break the sudden, strange spell that had fallen over them. 

Jon kicked water up at her gently. “No, I told you it’s too cold. We can’t both get hypothermia.” 

Sansa smirked. She hoped the darkness hid it from Jon. 

“Fine, help me out, then?” Moving closer to him again, Sansa reached out an arm. The moment Jon took her hand she tightened her grip and pulled with all her might. Her reward was being pushed under the water by Jon’s falling body. When they both broke the surface of the lake, she could barely catch her breath for laughing so hard. Jon sputtered before huffing out a litany of curses, each obscener than the last. 

“It’s not fucking funny, Sans. I’m fully clothed!” 

“Calm down, your phone is on the dock.” She splashed him lightly. 

“I was trying to help you, Jesus. Why the fuck would you pull me in?” 

With a jolt Sansa realized he was actually pissed. Dread set in as she realized how badly she’d misread everything. 

“Oh, I didn’t… I just thought.” She sighed and then words just started pouring out of her at an embarrassing rate. “I’m so sorry, Jon. I just didn’t want to be alone, I guess. This whole day has just been kinda weird and I haven’t wanted to be around the girls and Robb and Theon are _Robb and Theon_. I just… I don’t know. I wanted to spend more time with you. I didn’t mean to piss you-” 

Suddenly her back was against the hard, cold metal of the ladder and Jon’s chest was flush against her own. Before she had enough time to fully appreciate the contrast in temperature and texture the position created, Jon’s lips were hot and insistent on her own and any rational thought flew out of her mind. 

The kiss by the campfire had been nothing like their first kiss. 

This kiss was nothing like the kiss by the campfire. 

Jon kissed her like a man starved; his lips were bruising in the most delicious way and when he dragged her lower lip between his teeth Sansa couldn’t help but whimper into his mouth. Then, all of a sudden, his lips were on her jaw, then her neck sucking at her pulse, then her shoulder, then back up to her lips. His hands were everywhere too, insistently skimming along the sides of her belly and the small of her back and the curve of her ass and the swell of her breast. 

Sansa felt like she was one fire, but it wasn’t enough. She needed something more. Pushing up against the lake floor, she wrapped her legs around Jon’s waist and reveled in the feeling of his hands slipping past her hips to grip the bottoms of her thighs, holding her in place against his body. 

When he finally pulled away, Jon kept her locked tight against his chest and dropped his forehead to the slope of her shoulder. “Fuck, Sans.”

She was powerless to stop the girlish giggle that escaped her swollen lips. Jon smiled against her skin at the noise. Sansa nuzzled her nose against his cheek and let her fingers roam through his wet hair. After a long moment, he turned and peppered the column of her throat with soft, gentle pecks. 

“Jon?”

He hummed in response but didn’t stop his ministrations. 

“I’m cold.” 

At that he did stop, but only so he could catch her lips again. This time Jon kissed her slowly and deliberately. She’d had no idea there were so many ways to kiss someone before tonight. Then, all too soon, Jon was pulling away and guiding her back to the ladder and nodding towards the dock in silent encouragement. Sansa didn’t want to stop kissing him, but she was actually cold and slightly terrified that one of their friends or her brother or – God forbid – one of Father’s men had seen them. 

Jon followed her up the ladder a moment later. He watched in silence while she dressed, rolling his eyes when she made a snide comment about him having no manners and getting water all over her parents’ house. When Jon caught her hand on the gravel path back up to the house, Sansa’s heart did a funny little skip and for the life of her she couldn’t stop from grinning like an idiot. 

They parted ways in the dark hallway upstairs with whispered goodnights and a squeeze of hands and a hurried, fervent, final kiss. 

*****

**January 12, 2016  
Winterfell, New York**

Robb was buried in the family graveyard alongside five generations of Starks and, of course, his father. 

Father Tarly performed the service. Jon gave a reading from the Bible. The Starks threw dirt on the casket. 

Jeyne, Robb’s pregnant widow, was so distraught that Meera Reed had to escort her back to the big house halfway through. 

It was only then that Sansa realized Theon wasn’t there. 

When the men started filling in the grave, Jon grabbed her hand without so much as a glance in her direction. Sansa squeezed it, feeling the dig of the heavy, cold ring he wore. 

She wondered who Slynt was and what Jon was going to do to him at the Jersey Shore. 

(She had a good guess as to who he was and she had an ever better guess as to what Jon was going to do to him at the Jersey Shore)

Ashes to ashes and dust to dust and it was done. 

It was done, but everything else had just started. 

*****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhhhhhh I hope you liked it. 
> 
> It'll really earn its rating as it goes. 
> 
> I hope the alternating timelines weren't too hard to follow. That will end after Part II, as after that point the story will focus on the current timeline.
> 
> As per usual, this is based mostly on the books as I'm more familiar (and prefer) them, but I do borrow some lines from the show.


	2. Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew this is a long one. 
> 
> For fun, here are my headcanons of what [younger Sansa](https://i.redd.it/qp9sgykd415z.jpg) and [younger Jon](https://data.whicdn.com/images/47839209/original.png) look like. And here are [older Sansa](https://ilarge.lisimg.com/image/16812164/1118full-alina-kovalenko.jpg) and [older Jon](https://www.imgmodels.com/milesmcmillan/milan/men/portfolio). 
> 
> Thank you for the love. I love this story with all my heart (I'm a sucker for mob AUs and for these characters) so receiving love for it means a lot to me, especially since I know mob AUs aren't for everyone. It's my favorite fic I've written to be honest, so thanks for the encouragement that I'm not the only one who likes it <3

**July 4, 2010  
Lake Ontario, New York**

Robb had been the one to suggest they go up to the house for more beers. So really, if she was asked at the Pearly Gates, she _could_ say it was all Robb’s fault. 

Sansa could hear the fireworks going off across the lake in distant pops and bangs as her hands (both the one in Jon’s hair and the one gripping the kitchen counter) tightened. His mouth was hot and wet on her neck. His fingers were firm and insistent between her legs. 

“Don’t leave a mark,” she panted. Jon scraped his teeth up the column of her neck and pulled her into a bruising kiss. 

“You don’t want a memento of the first time you got fingered?” 

She couldn’t do much more than whimper at his crass words when one of his long fingers slipped inside her.

“Fuck, Sans. You’re gonna kill me. You’re so fucking wet.” 

Yeah, Robb had been the one who told Sansa to get more beer. But Sansa had been the one to complain that she couldn’t carry it all. Sansa had been the one kick Jon’s leg and ask for help. Robb told Jon to help his sister (“our sister”), but Jon chose to follow her back up to the house. 

Sansa had been the one to pull him into a frantic kiss the moment they entered the kitchen.

Jon had been the one to roughly push her against the counter and ask if he she wanted to feel good. 

And, oh yes, Sansa wanted to feel good. 

He held her close to his chest when she started to see fireworks of a different kind than those going off across the lake. By that point he’d slipped another finger into her while his thumb circled her clit and his teeth and tongue took turns on her pulse point. 

“We should get back before someone comes looking,” Sansa murmured against the hollow of his throat. Jon had a foot of height on her. This fact had tortured her in the years after his growth spurt but been dearly appreciated in the last twenty minutes. “They’re gonna ask questions.” 

He nodded but didn’t pull away yet. 

Because that was the unspoken truth between them, after all. Whatever _it_ was that had started on the dock (or had it started around the campfire? or by the pool two years ago?) was not something to be shared with anyone else. He was Robb and Arya’s brother. He was in her dad’s inner circle. He’d killed and done God knew what else and she was supposed to date some nice boy with blond hair and a BMW who didn’t smoke a pack a day and come home at 3am with a bloodstained shirt. 

Jon slowly slipped his hand out of her shorts. “You grab the beer. I’ll get the fireworks we bought at the store. That’ll be enough to distract ‘em.” He dropped a sloppy kiss to her cheek before wiping his slick fingers on his jeans and disappearing down the hall. 

She didn’t wait for him to come back before carrying a case of beer down to the dock.

*****

**January 12, 2016  
Winterfell, New York**

There were too many clouds to be able to see any stars or even the moon. And it was cold. Probably too cold for her to be out here in sweatpants and one of Robb’s old sweatshirts – the one that had _Sacred Cross Football_ stretched across the front. She had to be up early too. Mama was making her tag along at the Mission the next morning (probably just to pressure her into going to confession afterwards). Sansa didn’t want to be back in that house, though. She didn’t want to be in her room. She didn’t want to look up at that familiar ceiling and think about the fact that Robb was buried next to Father under all that dirt like Lady. 

It had been another closed casket funeral. 

The fucking Freys or Boltons or Lannisters or whoever ordered it hadn’t even spared his face, apparently. Sansa reached up and ran a finger over her cheekbones, then over her closed eyes. Everyone told her that she and Robb looked like twins when they were little. They both had Mama’s coloring – those deep blue eyes and dark red hair. Rickon and Bran had it too, but they looked more like Starks. Arya was just a spitting image of Father. 

But Robb and Sansa looked like Mama and like each other and that had always made Sansa feel better on the days she couldn’t help but think she was the black sheep of the family. Now Robb was gone though. She’d never see that twin set of eyes or his goofy smile or his messy hair again. She’d never hear his infectious laugh or poke the new freckles that showed up on his cheeks every summer because no new freckles would ever show up on him again. 

She hadn’t even come home for his fucking wedding. 

Sansa roughly brushed the tears from her cheeks when she heard the door to the house open and close. The approaching footsteps were familiar, even after half a decade away. She wanted to be angry that he picked _now_ and _here_ of all times and places to do this but instead she just felt kind of hollow. 

“Hey.” 

She threw an arm over her eyes and listened to the familiar click of his lighter. “Hey.” 

“It’s too damn cold out here.”

“Then go inside.”

The smell of cigarette smoke hit her nose. She wondered if he still smoked a pack a day. It’d probably be more now. Probably still Luckys too. 

She wondered how many people he’d killed. She wondered if he had started enjoying it yet. 

There was a rustling of clothes and a low grunt and suddenly she could feel his warmth near her head. He must have sat down next to where she was laying on the low diving board. The scent of his aftershave was just like she remembered. Fresh and woodsy. Masculine. 

“Arya tried to petition your mom to raise this up. She wanted to do high dives.” 

Sansa hummed. “Clearly it worked out for her.”

The sarcasm earned her a throaty chuckle. She felt his soft curls brush against her shoulder and neck. He must have leaned his head back against the board. It was tempting – the urge to remove her arm and open her eyes and look at him in the darkness of the night. But she wasn’t ready yet. She wasn’t sure if she’d ever be ready for that again. It was hard enough to leave him the first time and she was determined to go back to California in a few days.

“I missed you.” His words were muttered in a quiet sort of way that made her unsure about whether or not she was supposed to hear them. But then again, Jon Snow chose words carefully and only spoke when he intended to be heard. 

Finally giving in to the temptation, Sana uncovered and opened her eyes. When she turned her head, he was there. Just like she pictured. Jon was still in his suit, though the tie was in a crumpled heap on the cement. He sat slumped against the diving board with his long legs spread out in front of him and his head resting right there next to her shoulder. She couldn’t see his face from this angle – only his dark curls. His hair was shorter than it had been five years before. A lazy wisp of smoke curled up from where the cigarette had to be resting between his lips. She wondered if those lips were still as soft as they’d been before.

“You shouldn’t smoke. It’ll kill you.”

“No, it won’t. Something else will get me first. Someone else.”

The hollow feeling suddenly felt even worse. Like a never-ending pit where her stomach had once been. “Don’t talk like that.”

Jon just shrugged in resignation. “Seems to be the trend.”

With a jolt, she sat upright and looked down at his somber face with hard, sharp eyes. “I said don’t talk like that.” 

He watched her carefully for a long moment while he took a long drag from the cigarette. When it became apparent he wasn’t going to respond, Sansa looked away with a frustrated huff and made to go back to the house, taking long strides towards the door. In an instant he was on his feet. A strong arm wrapped across her collarbone and shoulders as Jon tugged her back against his chest. “I’m sorry, Sans. I’m sorry, okay?” The words were whispered against her hair just near enough to her ear that his breath tickled her skin. Sansa wanted to be angry. She wanted so, so, so very badly to push him away and march back into the house and text Petyr something stupid that she’d regret in the morning. 

But then Jon dropped his forehead to her shoulder and Sansa couldn’t help but melt against his warmth at her back. 

“I missed you,” he murmured again, and Sansa let her cheek come to rest against his temple for a moment before twisting in his hold so she could look up at him. The new scar across his eye was more pronounced this close. Something about the stark whiteness about it in the gloomy moonlight made him look almost ethereal. Dark hair and dark eyes and dark beard with a white line down his brow. 

She fought the urge to trace it with her finger. With her lips. With her tongue. 

“How’d you get that scar?”

“Hiking accident.”

Sansa narrowed her eyes. “You didn’t use to lie to me.”

“I thought you didn’t want a piece of the business. I’m just honoring your decision.” 

She rolled her eyes. 

“Uncle Ben said Robb named you.”

Jon swallowed hard and nodded. She reached for his right hand (the one resting against the small of her back) and brought it before her face. The ring was there. Solid gold. Heavy. The snarling wolf enameled with ivory. How many times had she seen that ring on Father? As a little girl she loved it for its beauty and weight. Now, though? Now she hated it. She hated what that ring took from her and she hated what it stood to take from her now. 

She absolutely despised how it looked like an omen of death on Jon’s finger. 

Sansa couldn’t rip it off, so instead she did the only other thing she could think of to stop the ring from mocking her. Slowly, she brought his hand to her lips and kissed the cold metal. She kept her gaze on his deep, grey irises the whole time. The way they darkened brought back a thousand and one memories of those last months she’d spent in New York. 

“Sansa…” 

“I’m not staying, Jon. I’m going back to California when the week is over.” 

He looked a bit pained but said nothing. His heavy stare left her face, focusing instead on some unseen thing in the distance. 

“I just… I can’t stay here. I can’t do this. I left for a reason.” 

“I’m not gonna fight you on it, Sans. Not again.” 

She let herself collapse against his chest, vaguely aware that she’d get mascara and lipstick on his clean white shirt but not caring enough to pull away or stop the tears. He had money. More than he probably knew what to do with now that he’d been named as Robb’s primary beneficiary. He could get a new shirt. Christ knew a man like him had had worse than some smeared make up on his clothes. 

After a beat, those familiar arms wrapped around her frame again and tugged Sansa impossibly closer. 

“You were right, you know,” Jon muttered against her ear when her tears subsided. “You always are. It’s good you left. I fucking miss you like hell, Sans, but I’m glad you got out. I’m glad you aren’t a part of this shit. I’m glad you weren’t at that fucking dinner and that you didn’t see Robb like that. I’m so fucking glad that you are safe, and warm, and successful out there. I hope you know that.”

Sansa reached up and curled her hands into his hair. She took a deep breath, more to inhale his comforting scent than to calm her breathing. 

“You can come back with me,” she whispered against the warm skin on his neck, just below his ear, drinking in the way he shivered at the feel of her lips. Back when things were easier Sansa had spent hours on that particular spot of skin – reveling in the curses and whimpers and moans it drew out of such a gruff, serious boy. “You don’t have to take over. Uncle Ben or Howland can do it. One of the Karstark cousins, maybe. You’d like California, Jon. I know you would.”

“I can’t, Sansa.”

“But you can. I promise-”

“I can’t.” This time the softness was gone from his voice. The hands curled around her hips suddenly seemed too tight. She’d have bruises in the morning. Even so, Sansa didn’t pull away. Instead she pushed her face firmer against the place where his shoulder met his neck. It wasn’t disappointment she felt. No, she wasn’t disappointed because she knew he’d never say yes. Just like she’d known he’d be the take over after Robb. Just like she knew the scar on his face wasn’t from a hiking accident. 

“I know.” 

After she pulled away, Sansa didn’t look back.

An hour later she watched as the flare of headlights illuminated her room. The front door opened and closed. A car door slammed. The telltale beep of the gates opening sounded a couple minutes later. 

She crossed herself for the first time in years and said a prayer for Robb. 

Then she said one for the man named Slynt. She had no love for him – not if her assumptions were correct – but she also knew that death would be kinder than what awaited him in the black SUVs that would be turning south onto the interstate right about now. 

_Please, Lord, forgive Jon for what he’s done and what he’s about to do._

*****

_July 5, 2010  
Lake Ontario, New York_

“You’re sure about this?” 

Sansa groaned, mourning the loss of his lips on her own. “_Yes._” She pushed her hands back into his hair and brushed the curls out of his eyes. “Yes, I want this.”

“Because we can stop if-”

“_Jon._” He breathed out a heavy sigh, eyes still dark and intense on her face as if he was just waiting for her to shove him away. Gently, Sansa brought her hands down to his cup his jaw and brushed her thumbs over his cheekbones. “I want this.”

He kissed her then. Soft and slow and sweet. 

“If you want to stop let me know, okay? If it’s too much?”

Sansa wanted to roll her eyes, but instead she just nodded. Honestly, it was stupidly cute how he seemed to be more nervous than she was about this. Which really, Sansa supposed, she should be _more_ nervous about having sex for the first time. Especially since not too long ago she’d be adamant that she was going to be _good_ and wait until marriage like Mama had. 

But then she’d kissed Jon Snow and then she’d made out with Jon Snow and then she’d let him touch her in places even she was embarrassed to touch herself and so really this didn’t feel _wrong_. Jon was sweet and dorky and kind and yeah maybe he frowned way too much and _yes_ she knew that he worked for Father and what that meant. But she wanted this. Oh, how badly she wanted this. It was just one of those things she hadn’t realized she wanted until it was right there in front of her slowly pulling down her shorts and asking her if it was okay. 

Her shirt was already gone. That had been the first thing to go. She’d been the one to take off her bra because Jon’s mouth through the cloth was _not_ the same as his mouth on her skin and oh – that had been a revelation. She’d probably hurt him with how hard her grip had been in his hair when he pulled a nipple between his teeth and then soothed it over with his tongue. Then he’d done it again and again until she was panting and tugging at his shirt and asking him for more, more, more. 

Jon kissed his way down her chest, his fingers hooking into her panties and dragging them down her legs. Sansa kept her hands in his hair, eyes closed and skin burning with how badly she needed him. It felt otherworldly in a strange way – she was so very aware of her body and of Jon that the way the boat gently rocked them made her feel like they were floating. It had been his idea to go into her parents’ boat after the others went up for the night. It’d been an excellent idea. 

Suddenly, Jon pulled away and started fumbling with his jeans. “Here,” Sansa murmured, sitting up to unzip them for him. Instantly his hands were back on her breasts as his lips smoothed over her neck. With a boldness that surprised even her, Sansa reached into his boxers and gripped his hard length. Jon let out a hiss against her skin, slumping into her body even as his hands slipped down and tightened on her hips. 

“Fuck,” he muttered, voice tight. 

“Is… is this good?” Sansa asked, suddenly shy even though she was gripping his cock. The skin was soft, and she liked the way his body tensed as she smoothed her hand along the shaft. 

Jon let out a hot huff of breath. “It’s amazing. You’re amazing.”

She let her hand glide up and down a few more times, relishing in the uneven hitch of Jon’s gasps, before leaning in closer and whispering in his ear. “I want you in me. Now.” Though she’d meant the words with her whole heart, Sansa’s face felt bright red. She hoped the darkness would obscure that from Jon. The last thing she wanted was for him to ask if she was sure yet again. 

He groaned, tugging her closer for another long, sloppy kiss. “You’re gonna kill me, Sansa Stark.” Sansa just giggled, peppering kisses on his bare shoulder. 

“Do you trust me?”

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, I told you, Jon, I want-”

He kissed her again. Then, he pushed her out of his lap and away. “Scoot up and then lay down.”

“What?”

“Just trust me, okay? You’ll like it. And it’ll help get you ready.”

Sansa frowned but did as he said. Her breath caught in her throat when Jon nudged apart her legs. Suddenly she was nervous – as nervous as she thought she should’ve been a while ago. Her heart started pounding as Jon ran a hand up her calf, then her thigh, stopping just before he reached the apex of her legs. When his lips followed the trail his hand had left, she audibly gasped. 

“I admit I’m not expert,” Sansa huffed out breathily. “But I’m pretty sure that’s now how-” She was cut off with a loud moan when Jon’s mouth found her cunt. Her hands flew to his hair, fingers curling tight as he licked into her once, twice, and then sucked on that glorious spot she’d found with her fingers the first time she’d touched herself four summers before. “Oh, fuck,” she whimpered into the cool summer air. When she felt Jon smirk against her, her toes curled involuntarily. 

“Good?” He murmured against her. 

She kicked him lightly in the back with her heel and felt him smirk again. Then he was back to his ministrations, alternating between licking and sucking, once even scraping his teeth against that delightful bundle of nerves. Then suddenly he was working a finger into her as well and Sansa could feel something building up inside her like she had the day before when he pinned her against the kitchen counter. When the pressure finally broke, she keened loudly into the night, thighs tightening around him as Jon laid a heavy arm low across her waist to hold her still. When she came back down from her high, his dark eyes were watching her face from where his head was still planted between her legs. Sitting up, she reached for him and pulled him into a kiss. Jon’s lips tasted tangy and she realized with a jolt of heady excitement that it was _her_ she was tasting on him. 

“God, Sansa,” Jon muttered when they finally parted for air. “I can’t believe we’re doing this.” 

She pulled him in for another kiss before laying back down on the deck of the boat, dragging him down on top of her and reaching back inside his boxers. 

“Fuck, wait a minute.” Jon pulled away and reached for his discarded jeans. He fumbled in the pocket for a minute before pulling out a square piece of foil. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve thought about this,” he whispered, eyes darting out to meet hers briefly before returning to focus on unwrapping the condom. “God, you’re… you’re so fucking hot, Sans.” 

Sansa pushed herself up onto her elbows, watching carefully as he pushed his boxers down and rolled the condom on. She swallowed thickly at the sight. It was dark, but not so dark she couldn’t see him. She’d never seen a man naked – only Rickon and Bran when they were very little and that was such a very, very, _very_ different context than this. Her fingers curled nervously against the boat as she comprehended the fact that _that_ was going to be _inside_ her. _Jon_ was going to be inside her. 

Jon seemed to pick up on her sudden apprehension. Slowly, he reached out a hand and gently brushed it against her lower leg. “Hey,” he whispered. “We can stop.” 

She shook her head and looked up at him. “No,” she said, before repeating herself a little louder and with more confidence. “No, I want this. I want you. I just… I’m nervous.” 

Ever so carefully, Jon lowered himself over her before kissing her so softly and so sweetly that she wanted to cry. Then he kissed her cheek, then her forehead, then her lips again. “It’s okay, alright? We’ll go slow. And if you ever want me to stop all you have to do is say it. Okay?”

Sansa nodded. She reached up and cupped his face. “I trust you. I want it to be you.” Jon’s adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed and nodded. Suddenly, Sansa was filled with such a powerful wave of affection for him that she couldn’t help but tug him down into another soft kiss. 

It wasn’t love. She wouldn’t call it that. At least not the love that she saw in movies or read in books or dreamt about when she listened to certain songs. But there was certainly affection there; and attraction; and such a deep sense of longing and want that Sansa was utterly sure that this moment was always supposed to happen – her on her parent’s boat under the stars with Jon raining kisses down her neck, then pushing into her slowly while murmuring sweet nothings against her ear. 

There was a pinch of pain, and Jon stilled above her, watching her face carefully and brushing her hair from her eyes with the hand that wasn’t holding him up. “You okay?”

Sansa closed her eyes tight. “Just… give me a minute, okay?”

“Okay,” he whispered, kissing her softly again then leaning down and burying his face in the crook of her neck, breaths coming hard. After a few moments the pain started to fade and suddenly Sansa was consumed with the strange feeling of him inside her. She felt full and stretched in a peculiar but delicious way. 

She opened her eyes. “Okay.”

Jon pulled away and looked down at her. “Okay?”

Sansa smiled, winding her hands back into his hair and pulling him down to her for another kiss. They both groaned when he pushed all the way in, and then groaned again when he pulled back and pushed against her once more. After that it was a blur of kisses and moans and whispered words and sweat slicked skin. 

Afterwards, when Jon collapsed against her with a final low, groaned curse, Sansa held him close and brushed the fingers of one hand through his curls while her other hand smoothed up and down his muscled back. “I’m glad it was you,” she muttered in his ear with a smile. “I feel like it was always supposed to be you.”

Jon kissed her sweat slicked neck before pulling slightly away, flipping onto his back, and tugging her down onto his chest. “Now you can tell Kyra to fuck off when she calls you a virgin.”

Sansa smacked his chest, giggling, and kissed the spot of skin right above his heart. He pulled her closer, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head. 

“I don’t want this to end,” he whispered, suddenly serious. 

Sansa wrapped her arms around him a little tighter, the cool night air finally puncturing the blissful bubble of warmth she’d been enjoying. “It doesn’t have to.”

“If you brother or parents found out-”

“They don’t have to know.” 

Jon was silent for a long moment. Then he kissed her head again and pushed her up before sitting up himself. He reached across and grabbed the clothes they’d hastily discarded, handing her the ones that belonged to her. “We live in the same house.” 

“Technically you live above the stables now. And so what? That makes it easier,” Sansa replied, hooking her bra. 

“It isn’t weird for you?”

“Is it weird for you?”

“No,” Jon said. He scratched the back of his head and watched her tug her shirt on. “I just… I don’t know. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable or feel pressured or anything.” 

Another wave of affection rolled over Sansa. Not for the first time did she reflect on how different Jon was from Joffrey or Harry or Waymar. She reached out and tugged Jon to her, meeting his lips with a fierce, demanding kiss that left both of them breathless. “I like you,” Sansa murmured against his lips. 

“I like you.”

She smiled and rested her forehead against his shoulder. “We’ll have to be careful, but honestly I think that makes it more fun.”

Jon snorted. She could feel him smile against her cheek. “Who are you and what have you done with Sansa Stark?”

She pulled away and smirked at him in the moonlight. “I think the better question is what have _you_ done with Sansa Stark.”

Jon groaned. “Your father is going to kill me.”

“Not if my brother does first.” 

He smiled ruefully and pulled her in for another kiss, both of them determinedly ignoring the fact that neither one of them was at all wrong or joking.

*****

**January 13, 2016  
Winterfell, New York**

Arya finally talked to her the day after the funeral while they were at the Mission with Mama. The sisters and Jeyne were sitting together at a little corner table picking at the spaghetti Mrs. Hornwood had brought for the women volunteering. None of them were particularly hungry. 

Jeyne stared at the pasta with unseeing, puffy, red eyes. Every few seconds she’d swipe her hand over her swollen belly as if double checking that the baby was still there. 

Arya used her fork to crush the pasta into tiny little pieces while biting at her lip like Sansa remembered she use to do as a little kid. 

Sansa pushed the pasta around the plate in a desperate attempt to make it look like she’d eaten some. 

When her phone vibrated, Sansa jumped for it. 

**Petyr**  
_Miss you. Mostly in bed. And the shower. Looking forward to the numbers you’ll wear in Fiji next week._

It took effort not to vocally groan in disgust. 

The thing was, she didn’t _hate_ Petyr. Hell, at first she’d been more than eager to give him a blow job or let him fuck her tits only partially because it meant more photoshoots but even more importantly it replaced the images of dark curls and grey eyes and bloodstained shirts and made her feel nothing like that Sansa she'd been back east. No, she didn’t hate him or the weird arrangement they’d arrived at. If she wanted to end it she could, after all. Sansa was just old enough now to find his attempt at being sexy or suave or whatever pathetic. Frankly, it was embarrassing. 

“What?”

Sansa blinked and looked up. Arya was frowning at her. “What?”

“You look like you want to burn your phone. Who texted you?” 

It was more words than Arya had spoken to _anyone_ since Sansa had been back. At least that she knew about. Lord knew she’d probably talked to Jon who she’d immediately accepted as a blood brother in the same way Robb had. 

“A guy back in LA.”

Her sister rolled her eyes. Out of everyone, it was Arya who’d taken Sansa’s move the hardest. In five years, she’d only received three texts from her sister. All of them were full of anger and aimed at making Sansa feel as guilty as possible. 

“Do you have a boyfriend?” Jeyne asked with a quiet sniffle. Both Arya and Sansa turned to her in shock. Robb’s widow had, understandably, barely stopped crying the last three days. 

“Um, no I don’t. It’s actually just my agent. He was just reminding me of a shoot I have next week.”

“You’re leaving next week?” Arya’s voice was harsh and just a little too loud. 

Sansa turned back to her. “Yeah, I can’t take that long off.”

“All you do is stand in front of a fucking camera.”

An older woman at the table next to them gasped at the 21-year-old’s curse. Sansa smiled at the woman apologetically before turning a hard glare on her sister. “There is more to it than that. If I’m gone too long, I don’t get booked and I become irrelevant.” 

“Oh, God forbid that happen. Our brother fucking died, Sansa.” 

“Arya-” 

“Tell Mama I’ll be home later. I’m out.” 

Jeyne was crying again up again. 

“You can’t, Arya. The car-”

“I’ll text Gendry.”

Sansa watched her sister’s retreating form. She wanted to be mad, but she couldn’t be. After all, Sansa had been the one to abandon her little sister two days after they buried their father. It was hard to be the son of a Boss. It was harder to be the daughter. It was worse to be the only daughter. 

And if you were a daughter who wanted a piece of the action or to at least be taken seriously as inner circle? 

Well, that was just asking to be disappointed. 

*****

** September 2, 2010  
Winterfell, New York **

The first sign something was wrong had been the tire screech that woke her up. 

The second had been the front door slamming. 

The third had been the muffled shouts of Father barking out orders. 

Sansa flew from her bed in a heartbeat. The men were always quiet when they came home. Always quiet and never seen until breakfast the next day when they were all freshly showered and pretending the bruises or cuts or broken bones weren’t there. When she opened her door, Mama was already rushing down the hall while trying to tie her robe with shaking hands. 

“Mama, what is happening?” Rickon was in his doorway wiping at his bleary little eyes. 

“Nothing, baby, go back to bed. Sansa, come with me.” 

Catelyn grabbed her hand as she passed, and Sansa let her mother pull her down the dark hall to the stairs. 

“I don’t know who it is,” Mama harshly whispered, her voice edged in alarm. “But someone has to be hurt. If they’re here, that means they couldn’t go to the hospital. That means we have to help.” 

“Hurt? Mama, I don’t know the first thing about-”

Sansa’s panicked complaints were abruptly put to a stop when the women reached the landing and saw the dark, crimson blood on the marble there. Catelyn quickly crossed herself. “Mother Mary help us.” She grabbed Sansa’s hand again and dragged her towards the kitchen, following the steady trail of blood. Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion to Sansa. She could barely feel the pressure of Mama’s hand and her feet just wouldn’t work quite right. 

Father had been out tonight. And Robb. And Jon. 

But it could be none of them. It could be one of the lower associates. Or maybe she and Catelyn were just reading this all wrong and that wasn’t blood. Maybe it was just wine. 

But of course it was blood. 

Jon’s blood.

He was stretched across the kitchen island as a frenzy of activity took place around him. His pants were gone leaving him clad only in black briefs and a bloody tshirt. There was nothing to hide the bloody wound on his thigh. His breaths were coming in quick succession – harsh and hard and spit out like that fundamental action of life was too hard. 

Sansa was able to do little more than stare as her mother all but ran into the fray, digging into one of the drawers to find a wooden spoon and sticking it between Jon’s teeth just before Father started digging into the hole in Jon’s leg with a mean looking pair of industrial tweezers. Robb was holding down Jon’s arms. Willam was holding down his legs. Theon was on the phone with someone making veiled threats. Uncle Ben was shining an extra light on the wound so Father could see better. 

Fear curled through her so tightly it felt like she couldn’t breathe. For a moment, she convinced herself this was just a nightmare, because how many times had she had this nightmare now? How many times had she woken up in a sheen of sweat and had to run to the bathroom to make sure there wasn’t blood on her hands like there had been in the dream?

“Baby, go get your sewing kit,” Catelyn barked from her spot behind Jon. She was running her fingers through his sweat soaked hair trying to calm him down. Jon was writhing on the table. A couple of Father’s men had to help Robb and Willam keep him still.

“Mama, I don’t-” Sansa stuttered. Jon let out a strangled scream of pain. The dam broke and Sansa finally started crying. “Mama-”

“Sansa get the sewing kit,” her Father barked suddenly. “Now!” 

Theon was off the phone and must have taken pity on her because in an instant he was dragging her away towards the laundry room where she and Mama kept their sewing gear. When they got there, Theon reached to the top shelf and handed her the kit. 

“Hey, you okay?”

She realized she was shaking. “What the hell do you think, Theon?” Something snapped and now she was angry. Oh, she was so angry. She hated Theon and she hated Father and she hated his dumb ring and she hated the Family and she hated, she hated, she hated.

“He’s gonna be fine. It didn’t hit anything important.” 

That just made her angrier. “It hit _him_. He’s important!” 

Theon suddenly gripped her shoulders. That was the moment she realized he was shaking too. “Get it together, birdy.” 

“What happened?” Her voice was low and dangerous and so very tired. 

Theon shrugged like he didn’t care, but the shaky breath that left him gave away how upset he actually was inside. “Deal with Craster went bad. The dumb bastard didn’t get out of there when we did. Insisted on helping one of Craster’s whores get out of the line of gunfire. The bitch got shot anyways and then Jon did so a lot of good that moment of charity did him.” 

“Why isn’t he at a hospital?”

Theon gave her a look. “Why the fuck do you think? At least four people were killed. We show up a hospital and those fuckers in the DA’s office will connect the dots. What’s more, they’ll have evidence.” 

“Sansa!” 

Sansa shoved her brother’s friend away and followed the sound of Mama’s calls. When she got back to the kitchen Jon was passed out and so very, very pale. Mama grabbed the sewing kit out of Sansa’s hands and pushed her husband away from Jon’s leg. There was a bloody bullet on the counter next to Jon’s head. Sansa swallowed thickly, pushing down the wave of nausea that came with the heavy scent of blood, and looked away when Mama began to thread the needle. As Mama stitched the wound closed, Sansa watched her father and his men wash their hands and speak in hushed tones. She wound her fingers through Jon’s matted hair, only pulling her fingers away to harshly wipe at her tears. He was so pale and he looked so young and only hours ago he’d been in her room pressing feather soft kisses to her stomach while she tried to read him her favorite poetry. 

A hand came up on her shoulder. “He’ll be fine, sweet girl. I got the bullet out and your Mama will make sure he’s stitched up well. A few days rest and some painkillers and he’ll be good as new.”

Sansa didn’t respond to her father. She didn’t take her eyes off Jon’s face. Nothing about this was _fine_. 

“Is Dr. Luwin coming?” Mama asked. The older woman moved to the sink to wash her hands. 

“Theon said he’ll be here any minute now.”

Mama nodded as men started to file out of the kitchen now that it was clear the crisis was over. Before she knew it, Robb and Theon and Father were moving Jon to his old room from before he’d moved into the apartment above the stables and Mama was handing her an old rag so the women could start cleaning the blood from the counter and floor. They worked in silence. Sansa only gagged twice. 

By the time the kitchen and foyer were clean again Dr. Luwin had come and gone. Mama kissed her on the forehead and told her she was proud before grabbing Father’s hand and pulling him towards the stairs. Robb and Theon went out back to smoke. Sansa only hesitated half a heartbeat before all but running to Jon’s old room.

Jon was still out cold, but at least the color was coming back to his cheeks and the blankets hide the wound from her eyes. Sansa sat on the corner of the bed. The tears were back now with a vengeance. 

“You stupid, stupid boy,” she whispered, stroking his dirty hair. “You _stupid_ boy.” She leaned in and kissed him softly on the lips, then the cheek, then his brow, then back on the lips. “I love you,” she whispered, only brave enough to say it because she knew he couldn’t hear. “I love you and I hate you and I wish we were different people.” 

She fell asleep curled up next to him. 

Robb woke her up a couple hours later. He led her to the bathroom, sat her on top of the toilet, and began to clean off her bloody hands with a warm, wet towel. 

“How long?” He didn’t meet her eye. 

Sansa was too tired – physically and emotionally – to hide or lie. If Robb knew, then Robb knew. There was no point denying it. “Since the lake.”

He nodded; brow furrowed. “I won’t tell our parents.”

“Thanks,” she whispered. 

Robb’s blue eyes met her own. “I love you, Sansa. And I love him. But God help him if he hurts you or knocks you up.”

A wave of affection rolled over her. She leaned forward and kissed her brother’s cheek. “I’m glad you’re okay, Robb. Don’t you dare ever come home like that.” 

Robb pulled her into a hug but made no promises that both of them knew he’d never be able to keep.

When Jon woke up an hour later, Sansa was by his side. She didn’t tell him that Robb knew or that she’d been so scared or that he was a fucking idiot or that she’d nearly thrown up half a dozen times. She just kissed him and told him how precious he was to her and curled against his good side softly singing the lullaby Mama used to sing to her every night.

*****

**January 14, 2016  
Winterfell, New York **

The first time Sansa met Father Tarly (beyond a “Thank you, Father,” after mass on Sunday or a teary-eyed handshake at Robb’s wake) was quite on accident. 

When Sansa had last lived in New York the priest at St. Leo’s had been an ancient man that never seemed to have received the message that mass wasn’t supposed to be in Latin anymore. Father Tarly was much younger, around Robb and Jon’s age, and certainly he had to have _some_ idea about who the Starks were and why a car had to pass through two different gates, a handful of armed men, and a mile long driveway to enter the family compound. 

Which is why she never would have guessed that the portly priest who always had a kind smile would be in the library of the big house. 

And yet, there he was, reading some ridiculously thick book in the chair by the fire that Uncle Bryden always read The Night Before Christmas in when she was a little kid. 

The portly man jumped at the sound of Sansa’s heels on the polished wood, staring up at her with wide, watery eyes. “Oh! Ms. Stark! You startled me.” 

She stared at him blankly for a moment trying to make her brain compute what her eyes were seeing. “Um, I’m sorry, Father Tarly. I didn’t realize anyone was in here.”

Father Tarly waved his hand. “Oh no need to apologize. You did nothing wrong. And please, call me Sam. We aren’t in church after all.” He laughed a little awkwardly and put the book on the coffee table. Sansa wondered what Sister Mordane would have said about a priest insisting on being called by his given name. 

“Well then, Sam, you must call me Sansa. You’ve heard me in the confessional after all, surely we should be on a first name basis.” She smiled at him, knowing full well she hadn’t been very truthful when Mama made her go to confession after she helped with the Mission. Sansa hadn’t told Father Tarly – or Sam – anything about Petyr or California or even that it had been five years since her last confession. 

Sam blushed. “I promise you Miss – Sansa – what I hear in the confessional goes in one ear and out the other. It’s only for the Lord to know.” 

Sansa smiled sweetly again. “What are you doing here, if you don’t mind me asking?” Sam’s eyes grew so wide that Sansa felt the need to clarify. “It’s just that I wasn’t expecting to see anyone in here. Usually there aren’t visitors in the house.”

“Oh, no, no I suppose not.” He didn’t meet her eye. “Well, you see, Jon suggested a few weeks back that I make myself at home here – in the library that is, not in your house. He and I were talking about history, which we both have a passion for, and he got to telling me all about the fantastic books your grandfather collected and when I told him how marvelous it sounded… why he… well he offered for me to come here whenever I wanted.” The priest seemed flustered by his rambling and started to fidget with the edge of his suit jacket. 

Sansa frowned. “Jon invited you?” 

“Well, yes.” Sam shrugged. “He and I have a standing meeting at the parish office on Tuesday, you see. He’s become a friend of sorts.” 

She forced a kind smile onto her face, hiding her shock. The Jon she remembered had been as diligent about church as her father and brother, but a standing meeting with the priest was a wholly different matter. “Well, Sam, you are most welcome here. Would you like to join me for a cup of coffee? The last time I was here we had a different priest. I’d like to get to know you.” _And know if you really are that ignorant or if Jon has a Catholic priest wrapped up in this web as well._

“That sounds delightful Miss – I mean, Sansa. Except, if it isn’t too difficult, I do prefer tea.” 

Sansa wove her arm into the crook of Sam’s elbow, guiding the rotund priest from the library. It was hard not to smile when he blushed yet again. “That’s not too difficult at all. 

An hour later, Sansa knew that Sam was originally from Iowa and that he’d been placed at St. Leo’s after seminary three years ago. He liked New York and Winterfell, but it was too cold for him in the winter even if the snow was lovely. He loved period dramas and Sherlock Holmes and had a little brother who took over his family’s farm when their dad retired at the end of the year.

“So, you and Jon are both history buffs, huh?”

“Oh yes. But I prefer medieval history. He’s more a fan of the ancient stuff.”

“Rome,” Sansa smiled. “He was the only one of us who was happy to take Latin in high school” 

At that Sam let out a warm laugh. A comfortable silence fell over them as Sansa stood to pour more tea. Sam was looking out the window thoughtfully. It was a rainy day. Drizzly and dark like Sansa used to hate when she was a girl. After so many years in near constant sunshine though, she loved the dreariness and the rhythm of the raindrops on glass. 

“It’s good you’re here now, I think.” Sansa’s head shot up from where she’d been glancing at her phone. The priest was still looking out the window, but there was a small frown on his lips that matched the sudden seriousness of his tone. “Jon… well I do believe that Jon is a good man. He just has… a lot on his plate. And with the tragedy with Robb… But he’s spoken very highly of you.” 

“Jon… Jon spoke to you about me?”

Sam shot her a warm smile. “Yes, when I asked him about the Starks a long time ago. He talked about all your siblings and you. He said you were a calming force in the house, and I see that now. Both at the church and during the funeral I saw it.”

Sansa blushed. 

“If you don’t mind my asking,” she began hesitantly, “why do you and Jon meet regularly?”

Sam sighed, his eyes back on the raindrops hitting the window. “Much weighs on him. It helps him to talk about it.”

Sansa swallowed thickly. She tried to read between the lines. _Did he know? Did he know about the Family? Did he know about her and Jon’s past?_

“He didn’t expect to be the head of the family. Not so soon. None of us expected it.” Sansa kept her voice calm and neutral, though the reminder of Robb made her eyes burn with unshed tears.

Sam nodded and turned back to her. “I’m sure you are wondering if I know about, well, what it is your family… what it is your family does.” 

“Father, I don’t-”

Sam held up a hand to silence her. “I know about it. I recognized the name and googled it about two weeks into serving this parish. I try not to make assumptions, so I didn’t, and your brother and his friends and… his people… they were all very cryptic and clever in the confessional. They said enough but nothing at the same time. I didn’t want it to be true, so I didn’t believe it. Robb and them all were so nice, and charitable too, and your mother is always at the Mission or volunteering in some way or another. But it’s why you left for California, isn’t it? It was California you moved to, right?”

Sansa shifted uncomfortably in her chair. She opened her mouth, unsure of what was going to come out of it, but Sam continued before she could speak. 

“No, no – I’m sorry I know it isn’t my business. You’ve been so kind with the tea and everything… and I’m not – Well, you see, I do know about it and while I don’t know details, and I don’t want to know details. I am aware that everything is not strictly… Hmm. I suppose what I’m trying to tell you is that you don’t need to worry about hiding it from me.”

She cleared her throat. “I – I don’t know what to say.” 

“You don’t need to say anything,” Father Tarly said softly. He reached across the table and placed a hand on Sansa’s. “I have nothing against you or your family. What you do is your choice. It isn’t my place to judge it. I see the good things that your family does. I know you aren’t bad people.”

“You’re a strange priest.” 

At that he chuckled. “I see humans for what they are, Sansa. Flawed, but at heart good.” 

“Even Jon?”

Sam’s smiled dropped and he removed his hand from her own. “Tuesdays are his confession of sorts, I suppose. He’s a troubled man. We talk about his troubles.”

Sansa frowned. “He trusts you with that? I mean no offense but-”

“None taken. It took him a while to warm up to me – to trust me that is. But Jon is a man of faith and I think he recognized how far he was in sin. It’s helped him, I think. But I shouldn’t say too much. He trusts me to be discreet, understandably. I just though you should know.” Sam shrugged and fiddled with the handle of his mug.

Before Sansa could ask more, Mama walked into the kitchen and the conversation quickly turned to Mission work and mass. Naturally, Mama invited Sam for dinner. Sansa spent the evening distractedly cooking with Mama while still pondering how much exactly Sam knew, and what it meant that Jon felt the need to confide in someone outside the Family. When Jon came home just before dinner with Uncle Ben and Uncle Howland in tow, she watched his greeting and subsequent interactions with Sam carefully. 

Again, Sansa couldn’t help but reflect on the fact that while so many things about Jon were familiar, she no longer knew him like the back of her hand. Not for the first time did that thought make her terribly sad. 

*****

**December 5, 2010  
Winterfell, New York**

Sansa Stark decided to leave New York the day she turned 19. The day she turned 19 also happened to be the day the Family put Eddard Stark six feet under the frozen dirt of the Stark’s sprawling compound upstate. 

To say she was unhappy with the date selection would be an understatement. 

The funeral had lasted the whole day. It began early in the morning with the family in the Stark’s personal chapel that had been built into the big house by her great-grandfather, then continued on the mansion’s sprawling first floor where her older brother solemnly greeted what felt like a never ending line of Family who had driven all the way from the city, and finally ended when she, her sister, her brothers, and her mother each dropped a handful of cold, dark dirt onto the polished casket while the priest murmured some bullshit about ashes to ashes and dust to dust. 

It wasn’t Sansa’s first funeral. In her nineteen years of life she’d attended more than most girls her age, but then again when your father is the boss of one of New York’s five most powerful Families, funerals become a monthly, if not weekly, occurrence. This one was different though. Obviously, it wasn’t the same as when one of the associates was found by the docks or in a back alley. And it certainly was different than the respectful attendance that was required when a member of one of the other Families passed. It was even different than grandfather’s because while that had also left a horrible ache in her chest and lasted the entire day, Rickard Stark had died peacefully in his sleep at the age of 87. 

He hadn’t met his end in a deal gone wrong like his eldest son, Brandon, did seven years before Sansa had been born. 

He also hadn’t had his head nearly severed from his body outside of a basilica in the city like his second son. 

That had been Eddard Stark’s fate, though. It was why this funeral wasn’t open casket. 

Yes, Sansa Stark decided to leave New York the day she turned nineteen. More specifically, she decided to leave New York the moment she walked past Father’s old study after the funeral and saw her big brother in Father’s leather chair behind Father’s ancient oak desk wearing Father’s gold ring speaking in hushed tones to Father’s inner circle. The moment Robb Stark’s Tully blue eyes met her own, that familiar gaze brimming with resignation and warning, she knew she was done. 

Once, Mama had told her once that one couldn’t help the life they were born into. 

It had been the morning after Father took Robb and Jon with him into town on business for the first time. She’d waited up in her room, giddy with excitement, as she prepared all the questions she’d ask Robb now that he was finally counted among the men. She’d been ten years old at the time and still believed her father had never done anything bad in his entire life. Then Robb and Jon had come back with stony faces and hard glares and told her to go to sleep and mind her business. There had been blood on Robb’s shirt and Jon had refused to meet her eyes. 

Mama told her people couldn’t choose the life they were born into – and she and her siblings had been born into a very specific kind of life – but on the day she turned nineteen, Sansa Stark decided she _could_ choose what life she _led_, and that she would not lead one that demanded closed casket funerals and armed guards and her twenty-three year old brother making deals with the devil while wearing that stupid goddamn ring. 

That night she didn’t sneak out her window to Jon’s room over the stables like she had almost every other night since July. Instead, she poured her fourth glass of wine, opened her computer, and bought a one-way ticket to Los Angeles. 

*****

**January 15, 2016  
New York, New York **

It wasn’t easy to lose Jory, so when she finally managed to do it in the hustle of 5th Avenue, Sansa was quite proud of herself. 

She’d woken up that morning with a sudden need to just be _out_ of the big house. Out of the whole goddamn compound. She was tired of passing Robb’s childhood room and of listening to Jeyne cry and of Mama staring off into space. It hurt too much.

Jory had been smoking a cigarette on the porch with some other men. When she asked him to drive her to the city he’d nodded and pulled out his phone. She had turned and gone back into the house, determined to pretend it didn’t bother her that she knew he was texting Jon that information. 

But it did bother her. 

It reminded her of the gilded cage she’d grown up in – when Father didn’t let her do _anything_ without permission and a guard. She’d tasted freedom in LA (even if Petyr followed her every movement). She didn’t like the feeling of being locked up again. 

Once in the city, Sansa indulged in retail therapy. She had money to spend and time to kill and if she was debating between leather or lace she wasn’t thinking about what Robb must have felt when the first knife plunged into his body. 

First, it started like a bit of game. After a couple hours she’d gotten used to Jory’s constant presence just out of sight but become bored with the selections in the various stores she visited. The last thing Sansa wanted to do was go home, so instead she decided to screw with Jory. Deep down, she knew it wasn’t particularly _nice_. After all, Jory was just doing his job. But then she thought about how he’d immediately texted Jon her plans and then about all the times she’d been having a little too much fun in high school only for Robb or Father or Uncle Ben to show up and put an end to it. Back then, she’d known that was Jory’s fault too. Even if it was his job.

She started by pretending to take a selfie while really waiting to see Jory look away in her camera. Then she’d slip into another section of whatever department store she was in and count the minutes (sometimes seconds) until he found her again. By the third time, he sent her a look to let her know he knew what she was doing, but that didn’t deter Sansa. If anything, it made her more determined to lose him. 

It finally happened by no effort of her own. They were at a cross walk and just as the light turned a car on the street next to them slammed into the car in front of it causing a huge commotion. In the split-second Jory looked away at the noise, Sansa slipped from his side and back into the department store they’d just been in. It was easy to blend into the crowd and make her way to the elevators and then to the women’s restroom on the third floor where she waited for at least forty minutes (checking email and social media and sending Petyr the ridiculous picture he asked for). Jory was nowhere to be seen when she went back to the lobby. Her phone was buzzing with his frantic texts – he’d clearly told Mama too because she had three missed called from Catelyn. All this went ignored, however, as Sansa left the store and crossed the street to the little café she’d loved in high school where they served high tea and had live peacocks in the garden out back (both the garden and the peacocks being rarities in New York City). 

Sure, she felt a little guilty as she ordered lemon and lavender tea with the little finger sandwiches she loved so much, but Sansa didn’t regret dropping Jory. 

At least, she didn’t regret it until a crushingly familiar voice said her name. 

Sansa knew who it was before she looked up, but while the voice had prepared her to see Margery Tyrell again, it hadn’t prepared her to see Tyrion Lannister and Cersei and Joffrey Baratheon. It was awkward to see your ex and his mom. It was more awkward when that ex was the product of two of the Five Families and his mother’s family was allegedly involved in a war with your Family. A war that had gotten Robb killed. A war started of the murder of Father. 

But Sansa wasn’t part of the Family anymore. So, despite the anger and fear and dread that swirled in her heart she smiled sweetly and nodded her head at the empty chairs at her table. 

“Marg! It is so good to see you. Please, sit. You too Mrs. Baratheon and Mr. Lannister. Joff, it’s been too long.” 

She was graceful and polite just like Mama had taught her to be. She tried to ignore what Uncle Ben and Uncle Howland had told her the day before Robb’s funeral. Sansa knew that if they were right and Cersei’s family was behind Robb and Father’s deaths, then she was in danger. It was better to fake ignorance than let them see her fear. 

“Sansa,” Cersei smiled as she sat. Her long, golden hair was twisted up in an elegant bun. Her blood red lipstick matched her form fitting dress. She was exactly as Sansa remembered. While Catelyn had changed so much, Cersei had stayed the same. That made Sansa angrier. “It has been quite a while, little dove. I expect you’re back in town for the funeral. It was such sad news. Such an awful circumstance.” 

Sansa swallowed her emotions, her eyes on her plate. 

“Our sincerest condolences,” Tyrion Lannister added. He gave his sister a pointed look. “Please pass our love on to your family.” 

“I heard they stabbed him a hundred times,” Joffrey cut in with a twisted frown that looked like he was trying to hide a smirk. 

“You heard wrong.” Sansa took a sip of her tea and willed herself to be calm. She debated excusing herself to the bathroom so she could text Jory. 

Cersei hummed and tapped her long, red nail on the table. “Are you here alone?” 

It was an innocent question, but it wasn’t really an innocent question. Not in this world. Not in this city. Not after her brother and father were violently murdered in public only five years apart. 

“No, actually. I’m waiting for a friend. In fact, I should probably-”

“We’re here to discuss my wedding,” Joffrey suddenly cut in. “Didn’t you hear, Sansa? I’m marrying Margery in April.” Now he was fully smirking; no doubt aware she’d once thought she’d marry him. It had been his father’s idea after all. 

“Oh, congratulations,” she said sweetly and turned to Margery. “You’ll make a lovely bride.” 

Margery’s smile was radiant. Everything about Margery had always been radiant. “Thank you! You’ll have to come now that you are back!” 

Sansa saw Tyrion shift uncomfortably across the table. 

“I’m not here for good,” she told the woman next to her. “Thank you for the invitation though. I’m sure it will be a beautiful wedding.” 

“You’re going back to Sacramento then?” Cersei’s sounded bored. She motioned for a waiter and ordered a glass of wine before sending him away without asking the others in her party what they’d like. 

“Los Angeles.”

“Ah, my mistake.”

Sansa knew it hadn’t been a mistake though. She was sure Cersei Lannister knew exactly where Sansa lived and what she did for a living and whether or not she ever visited home. 

“I don’t blame you. I’d want out too if a Targaryen bastard took over my family.” There was no amusement in Joffrey’s smile now. Just pure vitriol. “No telling what one of them will do. My money is on him going insane like his grandfather did. In fact, given what I’ve heard about him already-”

“Watch yourself, boy,” Tyrion hissed. 

“I’m no boy, Uncle. Must you always-”

“Sansa.” 

Sansa whipped her head up at the deep, familiar voice. She couldn’t say if it was relief or dread she felt upon meeting Jon’s hard, dark gaze. 

“Snow!” Tyrion exclaimed. “When did you sneak up on us then? Please, sit.”

“Join us, bastard.” Joffrey’s smirk didn’t so much as falter when his mother swatted his arm rather hard. 

Jon ignored both men though. His eyes never left Sansa’s. Over his shoulder, she could see a red-faced Jory glaring at her. 

“Come on, Sansa. We need to get home.” 

“Oh, certainly she can stay a little longer,” Cersei drawled. “We were only just catching up.” 

Jon held out his hand. “Sansa.” 

She clenched her jaw, suddenly angry. He was talking to her like a child. Like a dog. Yes, she’d wanted a way out of this conversation, but she wasn’t one of Jon’s lackeys to order around. “I haven’t paid yet.” 

“Don’t worry about it. Come on.” 

Instead of waiting for her to take his hand, Jon simply wrapped it around her arm and pulled her up and away from the table. Sansa barely had the time to grab her purse and shopping bags. She watched as Jory moved towards the table and dropped a hundred-dollar bill on it.

Jon didn’t let go of his vice-like grip on her arm until they were back in the frosty air. 

“What the fuck were you thinking?” He growled, shoving her towards the black SUV parked illegally on the street. 

“I’m not one of your little servants to order around. I’m twenty-four, I can-”

“Shut up and get in the car.” 

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Sansa hissed. She crossed her arms and leaned against the door, refusing to open it. Jon simply pushed her to the side, opened the door, and dragged her in. She didn’t put up a fight, but she also didn’t make it easy. Seconds after slamming her door closed, the opposite one opened and Jon slipped onto the leather seat. 

“The safe house on East 24th.”

The car started moving. “What about Jory?”

“He’s going back to Winterfell.” 

“I want to go back to Winterfell.”

“Too fucking bad.” 

“So that’s it now? You’re kidnapping me?” 

Jon fixed her with a harsh glare. “Shut up and put your seatbelt on, or I swear to God-” 

“Is that a threat?” She hated that his dark words, spoken in such a deep, gravelly voice, made her lower belly clench. 

“Put on your seatbelt.” 

“You don’t have yours on.” 

A muscle in his jaw ticked. He reached across her and pulled the seatbelt over her body. The click of the buckle sounded as loud as a gunshot. 

*****

**December 6, 2010  
Winterfell, New York**

“You don’t have to run! I’ll protect you, Sans. I swear it!”

“You can’t protect me, Jon. No one can protect anybody.” 

There was a strange storm in Jon’s eyes. A mix of desperation and sorrow and red, hot anger. His hands were clenched in fists at his side. Distantly, she wondered if this is what he looked like when he and the men roughed up the Family’s enemies in the city.

“That’s bullshit. The whole point of all this” – he gestured wildly about his little studio apartment over the stables – “is protection. The Family is protection!”

“The Family is a goddamn prison!”

“You don’t get it. It-”

“Oh, please enlighten me then,” Sansa spit back at him before he could continue. She stalked forward into his space, veins thrumming with frustration. It felt good to yell. It felt good to rage. For nineteen years she’d been so good and so perfect and so quiet while the men in her family came home with sin-laden hearts and bullet holes in their bodies and with their heads all but cut off. “Tell me how freeing it is for you to get to go into the city with Robb and Theon and the guys and come home bloody and stinking and-” 

“We do it to protect you! To protect _our_ people. The pack!” 

Sansa thought Jon might have needed this too. Rage was good for grief. 

“I don’t want your kind of protection, Jon Snow. Don’t you dare lay your sins at my feet! I never asked for-”

“I didn’t fucking ask for it either, Sans, but this is who we are, and this is what we are, so get fucking use to it!”

“I refuse to get use to the people I love coming home in a wooden box,” she seethed. Jon’s jaw tightened and he looked away with a crazed sense of exasperation. “I haven’t forgotten that night you came home with a goddamn hole in your leg either. Or when Theon lost his ear. I’ve been to the funerals and I read the fucking news. I know what you do! I know what you all do!” 

Suddenly his big hands were on her arms, pushing her back until her body collided with the wall. Even in his rage, Jon maneuvered one of his hands to cushion her skull from impact at the last moment. “I fucking get it okay,” he whispered in a strange way that felt more like a yell. It was almost a growl. “You know that I’ve killed and that I’ve beaten guys up and that I’ve put the squeeze on fuckers. I get it okay! I’ve never lied to you about any of that. But if that’s your reason for leaving you need a better fucking excuse because you aren’t the one doing it, babe. You sit here in your fancy house and drive around in your fancy car and-”

“Exactly,” she hissed, shoving at his chest so sharply he stumbled back in surprise. “Exactly! I sit here in my gold-plated prison waiting for you or Robb to come home without a head. I can’t do anything without Jory following me around! I can’t just have a normal life!”

“You sound like a child.”

“You’re the one who told me a week ago that you wished we could just be honest with everyone and that you could take me on a _real_ date, not just another quick fuck in your bed when my parents think we’re sleeping. Don’t you dare tell me this isn’t a prison for you too! You’re fucking smart, Jon. You could go to college! You could join the army! There are a million things you could do other than be a part of this!”

“This is who I am. I am a part of the-”

“But you aren’t! You’re a goddamn Targaryen, Jon! Fifty years ago, you’d have been beating and killing the same people you’re riding with tonight!” 

It was a low blow. She’d known that before she said it. But it was the truth. Eddard Stark had housed and raised Jon because Lyanna had named him Ned’s godson when he was born. There was no debt or blood between Jon and the Starks. He could cut loose if he wanted to. 

There was only one emotion in Jon’s eyes now. It was plain and simple and cut her far deeper than the anger had. It was betrayal. 

“I don’t care who my mom fucked. I’m not a Targaryen. And I’m not a coward. Go run off to California if you want. I don’t give a fuck.”

With that he shoved past her and was down the stairs and out the door before she had the chance to blink. 

It wasn’t the last time she saw him. 

That was an hour later when he suddenly walked into her dark room without so much as a knock, pulled her into his arms when she stumbled from the bed, and whispered desperately against her skin that he loved her more than he’d ever loved anything in his life and that he was so, so sorry – that he needed her – that she couldn’t leave because he needed her and he loved her and he was so sorry. 

She’d pushed him away. Then, for good measure, she’d slapped him. 

That was the last time she saw him. 

*****

**January 15, 2016  
New York, New York **

The car ride to the apartment was silent. They both sat stiffly with arms crossed and stared out their respective windows. Every now and then Edd shot them a worried look in the rearview mirror. 

Sansa was, to put it lightly, pissed. How _dare_ he tell her what she can and cannot do? How _dare_ he make her get into this stupid car? How _dare_ he presume to have _any_ control over her?

By the time the car stopped in front of a gorgeous brownstone, Sansa had already formulated exactly what she was going to yell at Jon as soon as the chance arose. 

The chance arose as soon as he slammed the front door shut. 

“What the _hell_ were you thinking, Sansa? Why the fuck would you lose Jory and get lunch with the _Lannisters_ of all people?”

His voice was hard and sharp and the growl in it sent shivers up her back. 

“I didn’t plan it, they happened to be there! And where do you get off ordering me around and shoving me into cars?”

“I’m trying to keep you safe! Like Jory was trying to keep you safe! Do you have any idea-” 

“Do _you_ have any idea how frustrating it is to be twenty-four and babysat?”

“Oh, how difficult for you,” Jon snarled. He pushed off from the door and began to stalk towards here. “It must be so hard to have a bodyguard make sure nobody stabs you fifty-three times in a public place.”

“Don’t you dare,” she hissed. “Don’t bring him into this.”

“What the fuck do you think this is, Sansa? How can I not bring him into it? Do you think Jory follows you because we just like to make you _frustrated_?” 

He was inches away from her now, his chest heaving in anger. 

“I don’t want a part in any of this! I didn’t ask to be involved-”

“But you are involved!” Jon erupted. “You are the daughter of-”

“You aren’t my father!” Suddenly tears were in her eyes. Sansa shoved Jon away from her and stomped into the living room of the little brownstone, brushing away the tears furiously.

“Sansa-”

She whirled around, her outstretched hand colliding with his solid chest. “Don’t you dare presume to order me around or tell me what I can and cannot do, Jon Snow. I don’t care what stupid ring you wear now – I’m not a part of it and you aren’t my Boss!” 

Jon caught her wrist in his hand. He used the contact to pull her closer to him. “I know that, and I respect that, Sansa, but while you are here you have to let me protect you. You don’t understand the danger you’re in!”

The fear that curled in her wasn’t nearly as strong as the anger. “Oh, because you’re so safe,” she sneered. Sansa was so tired and so angry. She was so utterly furious that she didn’t just have a normal family and a normal life. She was furious that she hadn’t been able to tell Shae or Maege or Petyr that no, Robb didn’t die in a car accident, Robb was stabbed fifty-three times by a rival Family because of a stupid goddamn turf war. She was furious that she’d lost her father before she was even twenty. The least of her problems was that couldn’t go shopping without a bodyguard. Why couldn’t Jon see that? Why couldn’t he see she hadn’t asked for this – for any of this. And to have him – Jon who had killed, who had been shot, who had done God knew what to a man just days before – preaching to her about how he needed to protect her? It was the last goddamn straw. 

“What happened to Slynt,” Sansa hissed, shoving the hand Jon still gripped against him. She felt a thrill of victory when his eyes widened. 

“What?”

“Slynt. I heard you telling Uncle Ben about him before the funeral. You took him to the Shore. What did you do to him, Jon?”

“Sansa,” he warned, voice low and dangerous. 

“No, please, tell me,” she continued, wrenching her arm out of his grasp and striding to the kitchen. She began to search the cabinets for the wine or liquor she _knew_ would be there. “If you are so safe for me – if you are such a good guy protecting little innocent me – tell me what you did to Slynt.” 

Jon’s eyes were dark from where he watched her across the kitchen. His face was drawn and dangerous in a way that would have made the hairs on her neck stand on end if she hadn’t been so furiously angry. Finally, she uncovered a bottle of whisky and barely hesitated before taking a quick drink straight from the bottle. In an instant Jon had ripped the bottle out of her hands. 

“You don’t know what you are fucking asking. Go upstairs, I’ll call Ben to pick you up.” 

“No.”

“Sansa-”

She shoved him back. “I’m done taking your orders. Answer my question.”

“I’m not going to fucking tell you what we did,” Jon yelled. His grey eyes flashed dangerously. “You are the one who ran, Sansa. You said it yourself; you don’t want a part in this. I’m not going to fucking tell you. Go upstairs.” 

In two steps she was inches from his face again. “No.” she bit out. “You don’t get to tell me what to do." Each word was punctuated with a poke to his chest. “You want to know what I think, Jon?” He glared down at her. “I think you are a coward. You won’t tell me because you are too ashamed-”

Suddenly he grabbed her upper arms and pushed her back against the counter. She was angry – so angry – but even in her state she couldn’t stop the flash of a memory from that day at Lake Ontario when he’d finger fucked her against the counter of her parent’s lake house. “You really want to know, Sansa?” Jon growled. 

She kept her eyes hard and demanding, but fear began to bubble in her as Sansa realized that no, she really did not want to know. She’d never _really_ known what Jon did – or what Father or Robb did. She had ideas, yes. But she’d never actually heard it. Never had anything truly confirmed. 

“I strung him up like a pig, I beat him bloody until he told me who paid him off, then I cut off his head and dumped his body in the marshes like the piece of shit he was.”

Sansa swallowed, gripping the counter so tightly her fingers hurt. 

“Is that what you wanted to hear, Sansa? Are you happy now?” Jon shoved away from her and took a drink from the whisky. His back was still to her when he spoke again. “You don’t want a part in this, Sans, and I respect that. Fuck, I’m happy about it. But you are too smart to not realize that we are in some shit right now. For fuck’s sake – Robb’s murder was as fucking blatant an act of war as you can possibly get! Did you really think our enemies would stop there? They targeted your mom too – and while the kids are young enough that they are probably safe, you-”

When he turned, he noticed the tears that were now freely falling from her eyes. Sansa, who was still so bitterly angry, tried to turn away and hide them but it was too late. 

“Fuck,” Jon bit out. He was back in her space in an instant, big hands grabbing her cheeks and brushing at the tears. “Fuck, Sans, don’t cry. God, this is why I didn’t want to tell you.”

Sansa pushed away his hands but didn’t make any move to distance herself from him. “Where’s Theon,” she whispered, voicing the question she’d been too afraid to ask for days. She watched Jon tense, his jaw tight and eyes impossibly harder. 

“With the Boltons. That fucking rat is the reason Robb is dead. He leaked that we were moving in on Casterly Street and were poised to take over the Lannister’s most lucrative sector. He’d been telling Ramsey and Roose our plans for weeks.”

Sansa’s eyes widened. “But he and Robb were brothers. The three of you were – Theon _lived_ with us.”

“_Exactly_,” Jon exhaled. Suddenly his hands were back on her cheeks. This time Sansa didn’t shove them away. “Sans, we have so many enemies now. Robb’s funeral was so small because we don’t know who to trust. Family members have been defecting over to the Boltons and the Lannisters are poised to have their hand-selected candidate elected as Attorney General this spring. Things are… bad. Really bad.” He pulled her against his chest then, and while her anger lingered it was now so overwhelmed by grief and shock and _fear_ that Sansa didn’t hesitate before wrapping her arms tightly around his body. She took a shuddering breath, inhaling his familiar scent. She knew that the knowledge of what he had done to Slynt should disgust her, but strangely it just made her feel closer to him. 

“And Slynt? How was he involved?”

Jon tightened his grip on her. “Fucker is the man who killed your Father. Robb had been tracking him down for years. We found him the day before Rickon’s birthday dinner.”

The tears were back with a vengeance. Sansa clung to Jon’s black, wool sweater as she sobbed – letting all the frustration and anger and sadness from the last week (and the last five years) drench his shoulder. Jon held her flush against him, stroking her hair, and when Sansa’s sobs subsided, she could have sworn she felt wet tears from Jon against her skin. 

“I hate that he named you,” Sansa whispered against him. “I hate that goddam ring on your finger. I hate that you have any part in all this. I wish you would just leave and never be this man again.” 

She felt Jon take a shuddering breath. 

“I can’t. I told you, I can’t.” 

“I know,” she murmured, fingers finding their way into his hair – exploring the way his curls felt in this shorter cut than the one she’d become so used to. “I know you feel like you have a duty to my family and to the Family and I know-”

“No, Sansa,” Jon pulled away from her then. He backed away until he hit the counter opposite her. “I mean, yeah, there is that but…” He looked away, jaw tight. “I’m not… Sansa, I’m not good.” When his eyes met hers again, they were filled with a deep, abiding shame. “I’m not a good man. The things I do – I know they are fucked up. And there are days when I want to leave it all behind. Believe me, there are. But it isn’t because of how fucked everything is. It’s because I don’t think I’m good enough for the job. It isn’t that I’m repulsed by what I’ve done – It’s that I’m worried I won’t be able to take care of the Family.”

Sansa swallowed hard. “That’s a lie, Jon Snow.”

“It isn’t. I-”

“I saw you in church – saw how tightly you closed your eyes when you prayed and the way you frowned during the homily. And I’ve met Father Tarly. I know you have a standing appointment with him on Tuesdays.” Jon’s eyes widened. She pushed off from the counter and closed the distance between them. “You feel guilty about it. About all of it.”

“And? The guilt doesn’t stop me from continuing to do it.”

Hesitantly, Sansa reached up and cupped his jaw. “You do bad things, but you aren’t a bad man.” She didn’t know where this sudden tenderness was coming from, especially after the all-consuming anger of only moments before. But somehow, when she spoke those words, she believed them more than she’d believed anything in her life. Even knowing what he’d done to Slynt only days before. Even knowing Slynt was most definitely not the first person he’d done that to – or ordered someone else to do it to. “I remember the sweet boy I fell in love with when I was a teenager. I remember how gentle he was with me, and how he’d listen to me read poetry, and how much he loved Tolkien, and how he always asked my mother if he could help her with anything, and the way he made time for my younger siblings even when they were being obnoxious. I know that boy is still somewhere in there, so I know you are still good, Jon.” 

A tear slipped down his cheek. Sansa brushed it away with her thumb. 

“I wanted to hate you for leaving. I wanted to hate you so badly,” Jon muttered. “But I couldn’t.”

Then, Sansa kissed him. 

Jon hesitated only a moment before his hands were grasping desperately at her hips, spinning her around to pin her against the counter. His leg pressed between hers as he hungrily nipped and sucked at her lips. 

Oh, she had missed _this._

Whimpering at the pressure of his thigh against her body, Sansa dug her nails into the soft wool of his sweater and pulled him tighter against her, matching the pace of his lips and tongue just as fiercely. “Never presume to order me around again,” she hissed between kisses. 

“Never,” Jon muttered back, lips finding the skin of her jaw. “I’m sorry.” Sansa tugged him close for another hungry kiss. 

“God,” Jon groaned when the parted for breath, foreheads pressed tight against one another so she could feel the warmth of his words on her swollen lips. “God, I have wanted to do that since the moment I saw you again.” 

Sansa couldn’t help but smile. She let her hands find their way back into his curls, tugging affectionately. Then, a wave of sadness hit her with a suddenly, force. She dropped her hands to his shoulders and closed her eyes. It was all she could do to keep the tears at bay. Jon seemed to notice immediately, his hands cupping her jaw. 

“Sansa-” 

“I’m not the same person I was, Jon,” she whispered. “And you aren’t the same person you were.”

Sansa felt his shaky breath against her mouth. “I know.”

“What you’ve done and what you do… Jon I understand – how can I not given my family – but I just…”

“I know.”

She let her hands find their way to his jaw, mirroring the hold Jon had on her. “I wish we were different people.”

He kissed her then, soft and slow, before pulling away and resting his head against her shoulder. “God, Sans. So do I.”

She held him for a minute. Tight in her arms as if she could absolve him of his sins and protect him from the world that was both trying to kill him and trying to turn him into something she didn’t want him to be. Something he already was. “Jon,” Sansa whispered against his ear. “I want you. Just this once, I want you. After I leave, I don’t think I’m ever coming back, and I want you this last time.”

Jon’s grip on her tightened again. “Sans… I don’t-”

“Please.”

He nodded, slowly grabbing her hand and pulling her towards the stairs in the front hall and then into a bedroom on the second story. 

Unlike their other times together when they were younger, this was soft and delicate and sad. When Jon pushed into her, Sansa held his head tightly against her so that he wouldn’t see her tears. He kissed her there, on the soft skin of her chest and shoulder and neck, and whispered sweet nonsense in her ear that made her smile despite the thundering sense of finality she felt in her heart. 

After a while, Jon flipped them, so she rode atop him. The position had been his favorite years ago because, as she’d quickly learned, Jon had a thing for her tits. Now, though, his hands stayed on her hips as she ground against him. His eyes were dark and heavy on her face, until all of a sudden, he surged up to kiss her, pulling her legs around him, and drove his cock up into her at a faster pace. Sansa gasped at the sudden change. Her breath started to become more ragged as she slumped against Jon’s chest and let him do the work. Within minutes she was seeing stars and her nails bite into the skin on his back.

“I loved you,” Sansa whispered against him as she came back down to earth. “I loved you so much.”

Jon was beyond words, moaning a curse and pumping into her hard and fast. He kissed her fiercely and then flipped them again so he could drive into her harder. He bit and nipped at her neck, sucking at her pulse so long she was sure it would leave a mark. Sansa urged him along, kissing the spot she knew he loved just beneath his ear and then tugging at his curls in the way that had always made him hiss with pleasure when his hot mouth moved to her nipples. Before long, he was rutting against her desperately and came with a growl against her shoulder, his hand bruisingly firm on her hip. 

They laid there still for a long moment, Jon still inside her, with only the sounds of traffic outside and their own ragged breathes filling the dark, sterile room. Sansa felt like crying again.

When he rolled off of her, Sansa rolled onto her side. A moment later Jon followed, tucking his head into the spot where her neck met her shoulder like he always used to do in those delightful minutes before she’d collect her clothes and leave to sneak back in her window by way of Mama’s wisteria trellis. Now, though, there was nowhere to sneak off to and no whispered promise of “Tomorrow night?” or “Let’s go for a drive tomorrow.” This new, older Jon pressed a gentle kiss to her skin and sighed. The sound so was sad and resigned that Sansa couldn’t help but believe he was remembering how it used to be as well. A few tears slipped down her cheeks despite her best efforts to keep them in.

“You’re going back to California.”

Sansa was silent a moment before murmuring. “I know.”

Jon sighed against her skin again. “Good.”

He rolled away from her then, but Sansa stayed on her side facing away. She didn’t want him to see the tears. 

“Arya is going back to Vermont. Bran will be in college soon. Rickon is safe at school and in the compound, and your mom and Jeyne practically never leave the house. The baby will be there too when it comes. And you’ll be in California. So, everyone is safe.” 

Sansa bit her lip. _Planes existed. And cars. And hitmen._

As if reading her thoughts Jon added, “They won’t bother you or Arya or Bran. It would be too messy.” 

Silence fell over them for a couple long minutes – broken only by the sounds of the city outside the window. Sansa rolled back over and looked across the bed at Jon. He was bathed in the glow of the streetlamp from outside. The yellow light contorted his face in strange ways that made him seem only half human. She closed her eyes to block the image. 

“Why didn’t anyone tell me about Joffrey and Margery?” 

She felt Jon shift beside her. “It wasn’t something you needed to know.”

“I don’t mean when I was in LA,” Sansa replied, opening her eyes again to find Jon sitting up on the bed. Almost unconsciously she reached out and brushed a hand against the smattering of scars on his lean, muscled back. “I meant since I’ve been here. Uncle Ben and Uncle Howland told me a little bit about the war with the Lannisters. But nobody mentioned a marriage between the Tyrells and Baratheons. That makes them blood.”

“Still doesn’t matter. You aren’t a part of this, and you aren’t becoming a part of this.”

Sansa sat up then too and wrapped her arms around Jon’s back, resting her chin against his shoulder so she could look up at his troubled face. “That doesn’t mean I’m not curious.”

He looked at her for a long moment, eyes shifting from her gaze to her lips. “It unites the Lannisters and the Tyrells, not the Tyrells and the Baratheons. Stannis kicked Cersei and her kids out. They’re living with Tywin.”

“Why?”

“Kids aren’t Robert’s.”

Sansa pulled away in surprise. “Whose are they then?” 

“If Stannis is to be believed, they’re Jaime’s.” 

Her face curled in disgust. “_Jaime’s_?” A thought crossed her mind. “Is that what Father knew? Uncle Ben said that you and Robb thought the Lannisters killed him because he knew something Cersei didn’t want him to know.”

“No,” Jon sighed. He reached out and pulled Sansa into his lap, strong arms wrapping around her and holding her tight enough to his chest that she could feel his steady heartbeat against her breast. “No, Ned had heard those rumors like all of us had, but it didn’t get him killed. He’d found out Cersei ordered the hit on Jon Arryn the year before. If that information had gotten out, which he did intend for it to get out, the Lannisters would have faced enemies from every one of the Families and pressure from the DA. It stood to destroy them.” 

Sansa shivered involuntary at this final piece of the puzzle in her father’s death. She buried her face against Jon, breathing in his deep scent. 

“I don’t want to talk about this,” Jon muttered against her hair. “Not with you.” 

She understood the words that went unspoken. _I don’t want you to be a part of this. I don’t want you to know about how bad things really are right now. I don’t want you to know things that could lead to you getting hurt. I don’t want to be Jon Snow and I don’t want you to be Sansa Stark right now._

Sansa dragged him into a kiss. It was soft and slow and before she knew it, he was looming over her on the bed again, hands dragging down her sides and knees pushing her legs apart. 

“You’re going back to California,” Jon whispered against her collarbone as his fingers found that delightful spot inside her. “You’re going to California and you’re going to be safe and happy and marry some rich guy who you love and who’ll give you lots of babies and everything you’ve ever wanted.”

The thought crossed her mind before she could stop it. 

_But all I’ve ever wanted is you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the end of the flashbacks! Plot is going to move into the second phase in the next chapter and bring in Jon Connington and the Targs....


	3. Part Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I ended up splitting what was Part III in half because it was just getting too long. As a result, this is now a five part story (though I think it will eventually be expanded to six parts) and the politics will pick up in the next chapter.

**January 16, 2016  
New York, New York**

They woke up early for the drive back to Winterfell. Jon was up before her, showering and dressing before 5am. Sansa watched lazily from the bed as he pulled a sweater on. She snuggled a little deeper in the cocoon of blankets and pillows they’d made in the night. 

“You shaved.” Jon looked over at her from where he stood before the closest. At her words he raised a hand to his jaw and ran it along the smooth skin. “I liked the beard,” she murmured, remembering how it’d felt against the soft skin between her thighs the night before. 

As if reading her mind Jon smirked. “I had to. The men of the Family are coming over to the big house tonight. I couldn’t look like a crackhead, as Arya so lovingly puts it.”

Sansa frowned. “So it’s tonight then? It’s becoming official?” 

Jon nodded, refusing to meet her eye. Sansa let herself sink further into the pillows. It was a tradition in the Stark Family – and likely in other Families – for the men of all the families under the protection of the Starks to come pay their respects to the new Boss when a new Boss was appointed. Sansa had only seen it happen once before, after Rickard Stark died and a bunch of strange men came to the house in dark suits for a big party. She’d be a kid at the time – it was before Jon had even come to live with them. Mama had kept her in the living room all night, sharing smiles and giggles with the wives in their fancy party dresses and wondering what the fruity drinks they had tasted like. 

She hadn’t been there for Robb when he was confirmed as the new head of the Family. She’d been long gone by then. 

Sansa was pulled out of her memories when a warm weight settled above her. She looked up into Jon’s eyes and forced a smile. He was sitting on the bed beside her, leaning across her with an arm on either side of her body. “Hey,” he whispered. “This is the way it’s gotta be.”

She nodded, letting her hands rest on the nape of his neck. “I know.”

Jon leaned down and kissed her cheek. “Get in the shower, Sans. Edd will be here in half an hour to drive us.” 

The drive was quiet, but not in the tense, uncomfortable way it had been the night before. As they left the city, passing the marshes by the river, Sansa clenched her jaw and thought about what Jon had told he he’d done to Slynt. Impulsively, she slipped her hand into his. He tightened his fingers around her own without hesitation. The sun was just coming up as they passed the city limits of Winterfell, and Jon surprised both Sansa and Edd by asking the driver to stop at one of diners along the route that had seemingly been there forever. 

Sansa looked at him with a frown. 

“Breakfast,” Jon shrugged, a small smile dancing on his lips. 

She rolled her eyes but stepped out of the car when Edd opened her door. “You know Mama is probably cooking a four-course meal, right?”

Jon slung an arm over her shoulder. “Maybe I just want a little while longer before reality sets in,” he told her. The sad resignation in his voice made something tighten in Sansa’s heart. She leaned into his body as they followed Edd into the restaurant. While Edd chose a seat at the bar, Sansa and Jon slipped into a booth near the back and spent the morning on safe topics, like Arya, Rickon, and Bran. Neither one felt much like broaching the fact she was leaving in a matter of days or that in a few hours he’d officially become one of the powerful and dangerous men in New York, if not the country. 

It was easy, Sansa found, to pretend that he was just a guy and she was just a girl, and nothing existed in the world outside that diner. 

***** 

**January 16, 2016  
Winterfell, New York**

The guests were supposed to start arriving at 5pm. Just as Sansa remembered as a girl, they’d filter in and out – the least important ones coming first and the most important coming towards the end of the night, which Uncle Ben said could be as late as 11pm.

“You, your mother, Arya, and Jeyne will entertain our guests’ wives and families. Just small talk and the like,” Ben told her between puffs of his cigarette. “The younger boys will stay with Jory and some of the men.” Sansa wanted to roll her eyes at the misogyny of it all. 

She and Uncle Ben were sitting outside in the garden half an hour before the first guests were set to arrive. Sansa had been in the kitchen with Mama minutes before, trying to help but getting too frustrated with the little things. Ben had pulled her out after she yelled at Rickon for bumping her on his way to get dressed. “You need to cool off, birdy,” he’d told her, as he dragged her into the back garden. 

“Your mother is the main hostess, so you don’t need to worry so much. She’ll be the one making sure everyone is charmed and happy. The most important thing is that we present a unified front. Jon has been chosen, but he isn’t really a Stark which makes things tricky.” 

Sansa kicked a stick in the grass. She still had on her outfit from the day before. She’d need to go change soon. Uncle Ben took another long drag of the cigarette. As she watched the smoke curl into the air, Sansa realized she’d never really taken stock of just how much the men in her family smoked before she’d left. Before, it had seemed normal, just like all of _this_ had seemed normal. 

“Do you think anyone would notice if I just stayed in my room,” she asked her uncle. 

He chuckled fondly. “Catelyn for one.” Ben turned his gaze on her and only then seemed to notice how earnest her question was. “You mother needs you, Sansa. So does Jeyne. This will be hard for them. It means Robb is really gone.”

Sansa scoffed. “Oh, because that’s easy for me to deal with?”

“You know I didn’t mean it like that, sweetheart.” 

“I just… I don’t want to be a part of any of this, Uncle Ben.”

He wrapped an arm around her. “I know. But your family needs you.” As if he could hear the protest in her head, Ben added, “_your_ family, not _the_ Family.”

Sansa remembered what Father Tarly had told her – that she was a calming force for the family. It made her angry. Why should she have to sacrifice her emotions to preserve those of her family? Instead of voice that frustration though, she looked at her watch and stood. “I should go get dressed.”

Uncle Ben nodded. “I need to go speak with Jon, anyways.” Before she could go, Benjen pulled her in close and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “You’re a good girl, Sansa. I know this isn’t easy for you, either.”

She nodded, turning quickly so as to hide her tears, and went into the house. 

***** 

**January 16, 2016  
Winterfell, New York**

It all went well at first. Even Arya was behaved and had acquiesced to Mama’s insistence she wear a skirt, which in and of itself was a small miracle. Sansa kept herself busy with small talk and going to and from the kitchen fetching drinks and for guests. It wasn’t until it was nearly 7pm that she noticed Mama was missing. 

“Jeyne, have you seen my mother?” she asked, pulling the older woman aside. Jeyne looked around the room, her hand absentmindedly running over her very pregnant belly. 

“Hmm, no I haven’t – maybe she’s getting the door?”

Sansa nodded and moved away, shooting a glare at Arya when she saw her sister taking a hasty swig from a flask she’d hidden behind a pillow. Arya rolled her eyes, but dutifully stowed the flask back in its hiding place. Catelyn was missing from the foyer as well, though Sansa arrived just in time to greet a new guest and his wife. Forcing a sweet smile on her face, she directed the burly man towards where Uncle Howland and some other men were standing around and pulled his wife into the living room. 

She finally found Mama when she went into the kitchen to fetch the new woman’s drink. Catelyn was just coming out of the bathroom, her eyes puffy and red. In an instant, the gin and tonic was forgotten. 

“Mama!” Sansa exclaimed, tugging her mother into a chair at the kitchen table. “What is it?”

Catelyn started crying again, fiercely brushing away at her tears. “I just can’t stand it,” she whispered. “All these people telling me they are so sorry and that its’ such a tragic loss.” Sansa gripped her mother’s hand. “I feel like I’m back at his funeral. How many times am I going to have to bury my son?”

Before Sansa could reply, Arya burst into the kitchen. “He’s here!”

Sansa frowned. “What? Who’s here?”

“Ramsey fucking Bolton,” Arya spit out. Catelyn froze. 

“What,” their mother hissed. “_Here_? He dares-”

Uncle Ben interrupted her as he walked into the kitchen. “Sansa, Arya, come on girls. Catelyn, I’m sending Jeyne in with you.”

“Ben,” Mama stood, her mourning suddenly replaced with a ferocious fury Sansa had only seen twice before in her life. “I want _him_ gone. I want him out of my house. How he was ever invited is beyond-”

“He wasn’t invited Cat.”

“Where is he?” Sansa spoke up. “Is he in the house?”

Uncle Ben looked at her darkly. “On the drive.” Sansa pushed past her mother and uncle. 

“Sansa, where are you going?” Arya asked, catching her arm. 

“Stay with Mama and get Jeyne into the kitchen.”

“_You_ can’t go talk to him if that’s what-”

Sansa shook her sister off her arm. “_I’m not_,” she told her. “But someone needs to make it seem like we know what is going on. Our family can’t appear weak, Arya. We need to show that we are strong. That Jon is strong.”

Arya frowned up at her. “Since when do you care what-”

“Please, Arya, just go and get Jeyne before she bursts into tears again, then meet me in the living room.”

With a final suspicious look, Arya moved away. Sansa sighed heavily, pushing the fear and anger and disgust away and forcing a congenial smile onto her face. She stopped before a mirror and tucked a long red curl back into place. She wanted nothing more than to go outside and throttle Ramsay Bolton herself after what she’d heard about the Boltons. But she knew it would do no good. _You are a calming presence_, Farther Tarly had said. Sansa cleared her throat and continued on to the living room. 

As she passed the foyer, she locked eyes with Jon who was thundering down the stairs with a dozen other of her Father’s closest men. She hadn’t seen Jon since that morning. He was dressed in a suit now, like he had been at Robb’s funeral, and the look in his eye was nothing short of murderous. She noticed with a start that there was a gun in his hand. Without sparing her a second glance he was out the door. She swallowed hard as she watched the oak door slam shut. Then, Sansa turned, collected herself once again, and returned to where her guests were waiting. 

One thing had already gone disastrously wrong tonight. She’d be damned if she let anything else ruin it for Jon. 

For the rest of the night, Sansa laid the charm on thick. She laughed at jokes that weren’t funny, agreed with insipid opinions she’d much rather debate, and complimented every woman’s hair, dress, or smile. Her mother and Sister Mordane had taught her how to be a hostess after all. It was time she put those skills to use. Towards the end of the night one woman’s little son began to fuss, so Sansa, ever a generous hostess, offered to go grab one of Rickon’s old toys for the child. A moment later she was up the stairs and hurrying down the darkened hall on the way to her brother’s room.

Halfway down the hall, Sansa saw something that stopped her in her tracks. The door was cracked to Father’s study. 

Slowly, Sansa inched herself toward to the sliver of light coming from the open door. The angle provided her with a perfect view of that huge, ancient desk and the dark man sitting behind it. Jon was leaning back in the leather chair, dark eyes hard and focused on whoever was seated before him. The hand on his cleanshaven jaw bore that damned golden ring, the cold metal glinting in the low light of the room. His dark curls were combed back and his suit fit him oh so perfectly. Uncle Howland and Uncle Benjen stood behind him; Howland ramrod straight with his arms crossed and Ben leaning against the bookcase. Both were fixed on the conversation taking place. Sansa watched as a man leaned forward and Jon extended his hand. Something tightened low in her belly when she watched the strange man kiss Jon’s ring. Suddenly, as if sensing her presence, Jon’s heavy eyes met her own and that low burning in her belly erupted into a wildfire. The moment lasted only a second – just as long as the man kept his lips on the Stark ring – but it haunted Sansa for the rest of the evening. 

She continued as she had: laughing and smiling and complimenting; being the perfect little hostess. But behind every dainty grin, those dark eyes flashed in her mind. 

When she had seen Robb in that same chair, it’d made her decide to move 2,000 miles away. 

But when she saw Jon there? Oh, that was different. 

So very, very different. 

***** 

**January 17, 2016  
Winterfell, New York**

It was nearly 1am by the time the last person left the house. Sansa watched him go, smiling and nodding when he said goodnight. As soon as she closed the door, she leaned back against it frowning. The man had looked oddly familiar, but for the life of her she couldn’t place him. A moment later, Uncle Benjen, Uncle Howland, and some of the other men came downstairs. Uncle Ben was yawning. When he saw her, he pulled her into a tight hug. 

“You did good, sweetheart.” 

Sansa let herself collapse into her uncle’s broad chest, suddenly exhausted. Uncle Ben pulled away and followed Uncle Howland into the kitchen where Sansa knew Mama and Jeyne were still awake. Arya had disappeared hours ago. She watched silently as the other men left the house, then moved to start cleaning the living room. Before she could make it across the foyer though, Sansa gave into her impulses and turned. She was up the stairs in a heartbeat, but once she saw the light under the door of Father’s study she slowed, suddenly nervous. 

Hesitantly, Sansa raised her hand to knock, but then thought better of it and moved to the handle of the door. With a deep breath, she pushed it open. 

Jon was looking out the window, a glass of some dark liquor in his hand, when she came in. He turned and smiled at her, but Sansa could see the weariness in his eyes and in the line of his shoulders. 

“It went well?”

Jon nodded, then downed his drink. He leaned back against the wooden bookshelves that covered the walls of the room. Sansa watched as he gazed darkly at his empty glass. His tie was gone, she noted, and the first couple buttons of his shirt undone. “Well enough,” Jon muttered. 

Sansa took a step further into the room, running her finger along the edge of the huge desk. “Did Ramsay Bolton give you much trouble?” 

Jon scoffed. His eyes darkened. “Fucking bastard,” he grunted. “He just laughed at us like this was all some joke.” Jon pushed himself off the bookshelf and dropped the glass onto the bar built into a cabinet. Sansa watched him approach her then, unable to hide her smile when he wrapped her arms around her and buried his face against her neck. She felt him take a deep breath. Sansa brought her hands up and ran her fingers through his hair. 

“Ben said you saved the night.” His voice was muffled against her shoulder. 

Sansa rolled her eyes though she knew he couldn’t see. “Hardly. Mama and Jeyne needed a break. All I did was smile and laugh and get people drunk.”

Jon hummed against her. When he pulled away, he didn’t go far. Leaning against the desk beside her, Jon scrubbed a hand over his eyes wearily. “Sans, how am I going to do this?” he asked her, quietly. “What if I’m not strong enough for it?”

Sansa took his hand and brought it to her mouth, but instead of kissing that cold, gold ring, her lips found his palm. His tired eyes tracked the movement. “You are strong enough, Jon,” she told him. “Robb wouldn’t have named you if you weren’t. Benjen and Howland wouldn’t back you if you weren’t. All those men who came here tonight and kissed this damned ring think you are strong enough.” Jon pulled her towards him by their linked hands and rested his forehead against her own, his eyes closed. 

“I made a deal with Mance Rayder tonight.”

Sansa frowned, realizing that had been the man whose face she hadn’t been able to place at the door. “But the wildlings have been enemies of the Starks for decades.”

“_Free Folk,_” Jon corrected her. “They preferred to be called the Free Folk. And we need them. I did a little work for Mance a few years back, and I’m on good terms with his sister-in-law, Val.”

Sansa pulled away and looked him in the eye, ignoring the twist of jealousy at the mention of this other woman. She’d been gone five years. She didn’t get to be jealous or possessive. “You trust him?” she asked.

“The deal is good for him too – it expands his territory and means his people and our people won’t keep putting each other in the hospital.” Sansa frowned and looked away. Jon’s hand gently tugged her chin, pulling her gaze back to him. “It won’t be a popular choice, but it’s the right one.”

“You were just picked, Jon,” she murmured. “For years people thought he was behind Father’s murder. You couldn’t have waited?” 

“We’re in a war, Sans. There isn’t time for me to coddle everyone’s old grudges. We need allies.” 

She nodded. “You know better than I do, I suppose.”

Jon sighed and shrugged out of his suit jacket. Someone cleared their throat at the door of the study. Sansa peered over Jon’s shoulder and saw Uncle Howland in the door. “A quick word, Jon?” he asked. 

Jon nodded. “Of course.” 

Sansa moved to leave but Jon caught her arm. “Goodnight, Sans. Thank you, truly, for your help tonight.” 

For some strange reason, Sansa had the sudden urge to cry. She shook her head. “Of course, no need to thank me. Goodnight, Jon. ‘Night Uncle Howland.” 

“Goodnight, dear,” her father’s friend said. He had a strange look on his face, and though he spoke to her his eyes were fixed on Jon’s hand on her arm. Sansa blushed and quickly left the room. 

Once she was back in the privacy of her own bedroom, the tears finally started to fall. Not for the first time did she wish Robb was with her, if only to muss her hair and tell her to stop blubbering. She thought Robb might understand why seeing Jon so weary – so desperate for her affirmation – so grateful for such simple things – made her want to cry. 

She fell into a dreamless sleep on top of her covers.

*****

**January 17, 2016  
Winterfell, New York**

Sansa woke up the next morning to a knock at her door. Groggily, she checked her phone and abruptly sat up when she saw it was already noon. 

“Sansa?”

She looked up at the sound of Jeyne’s voice beyond the door. “You can come in, Jeyne.”

Her sister-in-law opened the door and came to sit on the edge of Sansa’s bed, a hand pressed against her back to balance the weight of her very pregnant belly. “I hope I didn’t wake you,” the older woman smiled. 

“I’m glad you did,” Sansa laughed. “I can’t believe I slept so late.”

Jeyne’s smile fell a little. “Well, it was a long night.” She looked away and Sansa worried she might cry again. Jeyne always seemed to be on the verge of tears – though that was understandable. Even so, she was so unlike the girl Sansa had known before. Jeyne’s blue eyes had always been bright and happy, then. She’d been a person who smiled easy and laughed easier – a light, warm laugh that always made you feel good. It had been easy to see why Robb had fallen for her so quickly - why they’d lasted through all of high school and into adulthood. 

Sansa reached out and put a hand over her sister-in-law’s. Jeyne turned back, forcing a watery smile. “I wondered if you wanted to bake with me? I feel like you and I have hardly had any time to catch up. I want to hear all about California.”

A half an hour later they were in the kitchen, Sansa’s great-grandmother’s cookbook open on the counter amid a wide array of ingredients and a healthy amount of spilled flour. 

For a while it felt like old times. Sansa had always liked Jeyne. Jeyne Westerling had been a godsend to teenage Sansa. Where she and Arya differed so drastically, Jeyne had also liked to talk about fashion and boys and the latest gossip at school. Jeyne didn’t make her feel silly for liking knitting and renaissance fairs and those sappy romantic movies. She’d been the big sister Sansa had always dreamed of – and shuffling around the kitchen baking while sharing stories about all the boys she’d been on dates with in Los Angeles felt like a return to simpler days. 

When a lull fell in the conversation, Sansa leaned against the counter and looked at Jeyne’s pregnant belly. “Did you and Robb talk about names at all?” she asked, hoping it wouldn’t upset her sister-in-law. 

It didn’t. Not at first. Jeyne rested a hand on her belly and smiled, though her eyes were sad. “No. We never even found out if it is a boy or a girl. We wanted to find out when the little bean is born.”

Sansa smiled, pushing away her own urge to cry at the thought of Robb holding his baby. “I miss him so much,” she murmured. 

A moment later, Jeyne was in tears. Sansa pushed off the counter and guided the other woman to the kitchen table. “Oh Jeyne, I didn’t mean to upset you,” she murmured soothingly. 

“I’m so sorry,” Jeyne whimpered between sobs. “I know I keep crying but I just- ”she broke off into another sob, this one muffled by her hands. 

Sansa grabbed Jeyne’s hands from her face. “No, don’t apologize,” she told the other woman softly. “You have nothing to be sorry for – Jeyne nobody judges you for crying. We all miss him too.” She felt tears pricking at her own eyes then as she thought of her big brother. Deep in her heart, she knew she’d loved Robb best of all her siblings. His loss felt as sharp as a knife. 

“You’re wrong,” Jeyne whispered, shaking her head violently. “Oh, Sansa, I’m so sorry. I _do_ have so much to apologize to you for – It’s all my fault, Sansa. Don’t you see? It’s all my fault!”

Sansa’s brows drew together in confusion and she gripped Jeyne’s hands a little tighter. “I don’t understand, Jeyne. What is your fault?” 

“Robb,” her sister-in-law sobbed. “I’m the reason Robb died.”

Without thinking, Sansa recoiled. She didn’t want to believe Jeyne, but then again, she never would have guessed that Theon would ever betray the Starks. “But I thought It was Theon,” she muttered.

Jeyne buried her head in her hands again. “It was – he was the one who made the Lannisters escalate when he told them about Casterly Street. God, Robb tried to keep all that from me but I could tell _something_ was wrong so I begged your mother to let me know. Robb never told me _anything_ about the business so I had no idea that… I didn’t know to tell him about the baby sooner… Oh, Sansa!” 

Sansa watched with wide eyes as Jeyne burst into more frantic tears. Tentatively, she reached out and put a comforting hand on the woman’s back. “Jeyne, I don’t understand.”

Her sister-in-law wiped furiously at her eyes and tried to catch her breath. “I had no idea about the baby until late June, and then I thought I’d keep it secret and surprise Robb on our anniversary in late July, if I wasn’t showing too much before then.” She let out a heaving breath. “And he didn’t tell me anything about what was going on with the Freys so I didn’t know to tell him sooner – oh God, Sansa – so when he found out about the baby he of course did the right thing but it messed everything up! It’s why the Freys turned on your family.” Jeyne broke into more sobs. Sansa rubbed at the woman’s back, more confused than she’d been moments before. 

“Jeyne,” she repeated. “I don’t know what you are talking about.” Sansa didn’t like Jeyne’s implication that there was a chance Robb _wouldn’t_ have done right by Jeyne after finding out she was pregnant. Had they not known about the baby before they got engaged? She realized with a wave of nausea that she didn’t even know _when_ Robb and Jeyne had gotten engaged. “Just… just start from the begging, okay?”

Jeyne nodded. “We’d always planned on getting married,” she told Sansa. “Ever since high school we talked about it. I knew about your family and about Robb – I had assumptions in high school but then after your father’s death, well Robb told me everything. But then, after that, he never told me about where he was going or what deals he made or anything like that.” She took a shuddering breath. “And I never would have thought that _our_ relationship would be a part of the _business_. A week before our anniversary he tried to break up with me.” 

Sansa gasped. “What?” 

Fresh tears streaked down Jeyne’s cheeks as she nodded. “It came out of nowhere. Everything had been fine – it’d been perfect. Yeah, he was stressed, and your mom told me about the Lannisters and Theon, but I didn’t… it just came out of left field. And I knew I was pregnant then, so I told him that. I told him he wasn’t just leaving me. And he just…” Jeyne let out another sob. “He just broke down crying and explained everything.”

Sansa’s heart was pounding. Her mind tried to make sense of Jeyne’s words – tried to puzzle out the answer ahead of the woman’s explanations. 

“He told me,” Jeyne sniffled, “that the Family needed the Frey’s shipping connections for their move on Casterly Street, but that Walder Frey was being difficult. The only way to secure the bond between the Families and solidify the new market that would bring down the Lannisters’ main business was through _marriage_.” She turned to Sansa with wide, red rimmed eyes. “How fucked is that, Sansa? _Marriage_. And Robb _agreed_ to it,” she sobbed. “He told me he was so sorry and he loved me but that the Family had to come before him and what he wanted, so he’d agreed to marry Walder’s daughter like we were living in the goddamn middle ages!” 

“Oh, Jeyne,” Sansa murmured. As absurd as it sounded, Sansa wasn’t _that_ surprised. Robb would always put the Family before himself – that’s what Father had raised him to do. Deep in her heart, a voice whispered that Jon had been raised the same way. 

“And he hadn’t talked to me about it before agreeing so I didn’t know to tell him about the baby sooner. I wanted it to be a surprise. I knew he’d be so happy and I wanted it to be a surprise.” Jeyne broke down into more tears. 

“And when Robb found out he proposed to you,” Sansa said, filling in the rest of the story already. Because of course Robb would do right by Jeyne, even if he’d been prepared to deny himself her love and companionship for the good of the Family. A baby changed things. It changed everything. 

Jeyne nodded. “He did. He told me, ‘Screw Frey, we’ll make it work without him.’ And I believed him. He told me it would all be okay – that he could back out of the marriage with Roslin Frey and everything would be fine. _He promised_.” 

“But then the Freys joined with the Lannisters instead. With them and the Boltons backing Tywin, he had enough power to order the hit without it costing him too much.” Sansa felt sick. Poor Jeyne had been blaming herself for Robb’s death this whole time. “Jeyne, love, it wasn’t your fault.”

Jeyne gripped her arm suddenly. “But it was – don’t you see, Sansa? If I’d only told him about the baby before he agreed to the marriage-”

“You didn’t know, Jeyne. And it was Robb’s choice to make that deal and then break it. He should have told _you_.” 

The other woman shook her head, her hand resting on her swollen belly. “He never told me anything,” she muttered. “I’d just pretend that none of it was real and he had a normal job. I told my friends and parents he worked for a firm in the city.”

Sansa was suddenly so very sad. Sad for Robb and sad for Jeyne – and bitter that her family had destroyed them in such a horrific, tragic way. She pulled Jeyne into a tight embrace. “It was not your fault,” she firmly told Jeyne. “I don’t blame you. Nobody blames you. He loved you so much, Jeyne. I know he wouldn’t blame you either. I’m so sorry that you got mixed up in this family – I’m so sorry we couldn’t just be normal.” 

Jeyne cried into her shoulder. “It was easy to pretend,” she whimpered. “So easy to pretend it was normal.”

Sansa pursed her lips as she felt tears fall from her own eyes. Her heart ached for her brother and for the woman in her arms. 

She thought of Jon then, and how easy it’d been to pretend things were normal when they’d gotten breakfast at that diner in Winterfell. But then again, Jon had never hidden anything from her. When she asked him about the Family or the business, he’d always been honest, if reluctantly so. 

Jeyne pulled away from her then and wiped her eyes. “I preferred just thinking about Robb as the good man I knew him to be – I didn’t want to know about the bad things. But now, I wish I had. I wish he’d told me.”

Sansa squeezed Jeyne’s hand. “I’m so sorry, Jeyne.”

The timer went off on the over. Jeyne stood up and cleared her throat. “We should check on the cookies.” 

Sansa watched her waddle over to the oven. At nearly nine months pregnant, Jeyne looked ready to burst. Her throat burned with the urge to cry. She wished more than anything that Robb were there to see Jeyne like that. She wished that he’d come home and eat one of the cookies and kiss Jeyne on the nose like he used to. With a heavy sigh, Sansa stood and moved to help her sister-in-law. 

After they’d pulled the cookies from the over Jeyne excused herself, insisting she needed to take a nap, but Sansa could tell she just wanted to be alone with her grief and her regrets. Watching her go, Sansa sat at the kitchen table picking at a cookie. Her heart felt so heavy. Heavier than it had all week. With a twinge of guilt, she wondered if Jeyne would have loved Robb as much – would have stayed with him and married him – if he’d been honest with her about _everything_ he did. If he’d bared the good and the bad of himself. She liked to think that Jeyne would have stayed. That their love was strong enough. Ever since she was a girl and first met Jeyne – back when she and Robb began dating freshman year of high school – Sansa had looked up to her brother and his girlfriend as a shining example of what love _should_ be. She’d wanted the same thing for herself. 

But instead she’d ended up with a series of lame, selfish boyfriends – relationships with whom lasted a few weeks at most. 

Then things had changed between her and Jon, and now, looking back, Sansa thought that maybe what Jeyne and Robb had wasn’t what she wanted after all. Not that there was anything wrong with their love, but she preferred Jon’s honesty. He didn’t hide from her the way that she now saw Robb had hidden from Jeyne. 

To love a man in this business (to truly unconditionally love a man), she realized as she bit into the cookie, was to see the good _and_ the bad, and to still chose him anyways. 

That’s what Mama had done. That’s what Sansa liked to think Jeyne would have done, if given the chance. 

And, if she allowed herself to stay – to become the person she’d sworn she’d never be – Sansa thought that maybe she’d do the same thing. 

****

**January 17, 2016  
Winterfell, New York**

She was finally checking her work email when he knocked at her door. Without looking up, she called “Come in.” When Jon opened the door, Sansa smiled at him. 

“I’m heading out.”

“Okay,” she nodded, turning back to her email. 

The sound of her door closing made her look up again. Jon’s face was solemn. “I’m not going to be back to the house before the weekend.” 

Her smile fell. “Oh.” _Oh_. “So then, this is goodbye.”

Jon nodded. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but then closed it, looking at the ground. Suddenly, Sansa remembered the last time they were in her room together. How he’d desperately told her how much he loved her. How she’d slapped him and told him to leave. Wordlessly, Sansa stood and pulled Jon into her arms. He clutched at her desperately, pulled her so tightly against his body that it nearly hurt. 

“I’m going to miss you,” she murmured into his chest. She swallowed down a sob when she felt wet tears on her neck. Gently, Sansa stroked his back. 

“Be safe,” he told her, breath hot against her skin. “Be safe and don’t come back here.” His voice broke on the words, and the sound made the dam finally break in Sansa as she started to cry as well. 

“You be safe,” she told him. “Don’t make me come back here for another funeral.”

Sansa clutched him tighter when she felt him drop a soft kiss on the skin where her neck met her shoulder. He pulled away then, brushing the tears from her cheeks and the hair from her eyes. 

Jon leaned down and pressed a warm kiss to her forehead, and then he was gone. 

***** 

**January 18, 2016  
Winterfell, New York**

The night before Sansa left New York for good, she stared up at the ceiling of her childhood bedroom. When she was five, her father had put little glow in the dark stars on it. She remembered the day so vividly – she’d danced around him on his ladder wearing her little fairy costume that Mama bought her for Halloween that year. Father had even lifted her up, letting her press a star to the paint, and told her that every fairy should fly. 

Wiping a tear away, Sansa curled on her side and flipped on her bedside lamp. It was already nearly 1am, so she didn’t think she’d be getting much sleep anyways. Slipping on some house shoes, Sansa rose and went down to the kitchen. 

“You’re up late.” 

The sound of Arya’s voice startled Sansa so much she almost dropped the wine bottle she’d grabbed from the fridge. 

“Jesus, Arya, when did you start to walk so quietly!”

Her sister shrugged and slouched against the table. She still had that leather jacket she’d been wearing all week on. In their years apart Arya had lost about five inches of hair and gained five more piercings. Sansa had known about the nose ring – it’d been all Mama had talked about on their monthly phone call when it happened. But the piercings in her ears and the one above her eyebrow were new.

Sansa narrowed her eyes when she saw her sister’s muddy combat boots. “Did you sneak out?”

Arya smirked and moved over to the cabinet. She pulled out two mugs, setting them on the counter before Sansa. “Maybe.”

“Figures that nobody would stop _you_ from leaving the house in the middle of the night, but God forbid I try to have a day to myself,” Sansa said, pouring wine into each mug. 

Her sister shrugged. “I’m smart about it. They don’t even realize I’m gone. Though it’s a pain in the ass to get Gendry to pick me up all the way out here.”

“Sneaking out to see a boy then?” Sansa smirked. When she’d left Arya had still been adamant that boys were disgusting. She took a sip of the wine and watched her sister roll her eyes. 

“Shut up. And don’t you dare tell Mama, or I’ll tell her about all the times you snuck out to go do God knows what with Jon the last summer you were here.”

Sansa froze, her mug of wine halfway to her lips. “What?” she whispered. 

Arya smirked again. “Yep, I know about that. I am _much_ better at sneaking out than you are.”

“I didn’t – that’s not – I didn’t _sneak_ out!” 

“No but you did climb down the wisteria trellis every damn night to go fuck Jon.”

Sansa gaped at her sister. “Did Robb tell you?”

“Robb knew?”

Sansa brought a hand to her head. “I can’t believe you knew.”

“Believe me, I wish I didn’t. It took a little while of me watching you climbing down and walking towards the stables before I finally realized _where_ you were going, but then I saw him leaving _your_ room one night and-”

“Oh God. You didn’t tell anyone, did you?”

“Hell no. I was too grossed out. He’s practically our brother.”

Sansa frowned. “Maybe to you, but not to me.”

Arya nearly snorted out wine. “Yeah, I’m well aware,” she scoffed. 

“You were only a baby when he came to live with us, but I was older,” Sansa replied, rolling her eyes.

“You were six.”

Sansa shrugged. “I know you and Robb always saw him as a brother, and I cared about him, but I just didn’t see him that way.” A thought struck her then. “Does he know you know?”

Arya looked down at her muddy boots suddenly, the smirk gone from her face. “Yeah. When you left he… he was pretty messed up. I mean I don’t think it was all you so don’t let that go to your head. It was Father’s murder and Robb suddenly being in charge of everything too. But I could tell he was miserable so one night I just told him I knew and that he could talk to me about it – though I hoped he wouldn’t because I didn’t want to talk about it at all.” 

Sansa looked at her wine to avoid her sister’s gaze. “I’m glad he had you,” she murmured. 

“I was so mad at you for leaving,” Arya said suddenly, setting the wine aside. “I was so fucking mad, because we all needed you here and it felt like you were just abandoning us. And then when I realized how much it hurt Jon it just made me madder at you.”

“Arya-”

“But I get it now.”

Sansa swallowed hard. “You do?” 

Her sister nodded. “Why the fuck do you think I’m going to college in Vermont of all places? I got into NYU and Winterfell University, too. But I also needed… just a break I guess.”

“That’s why you sneak out?”

Arya nodded. “It’s so frustrating to have people constantly watching what you do. Especially when they won’t let you be a part of the business. I hate feeling like some stupid princess locked away.”

Sansa smiled. “That’s not quite why I left.”

“God, I know. You were obsessed with stupid princesses like that.”

They were quiet for a moment then. Arya sipped at her wine. Sansa stared down at the mud her sister had gotten on the tiles. 

“I did feel bad about it you know,” Sansa finally said. “About leaving. I knew it would be hard on you and the boys and Mama. It was hard to leave Jon. But I had to. Just like I have to do it again.”

Arya nodded, putting her now empty mug in the sink, but she said nothing. 

“This Gendry,” Sansa started, but her sister cut her off. 

“Don’t,” Arya said. She held up a hand as if she could physically stop the words. “I don’t want to talk about him.”

Pursing her lips to hide a smile, Sansa nodded. “Fair enough. Well, I suppose I should try to get some sleep.”

“Sansa,” Arya said. The softness in Arya’s voice was something new to Sansa. She frowned and turned back to her sister. 

“Yeah?”

“You know you’ll always be a part of it, right?” Arya gestured around the kitchen. “A part of _this_? I get why you want out. I do. But it’s part of who you are. You have to know that. You’re smarter than thinking you can just go to California and have no part in it.”

Sansa frowned. She looked at her sister for a long moment, taking in how very suddenly Arya had become a woman, not a girl. It made Sansa sad that she’d missed watching that transition. She wondered what about her sister’s life she’d missed out on. As much as she and Arya had been like oil and water growing up, she’d missed her sister fiercely. Finally, with a sigh, Sansa nodded. “Yeah, I know that, Arya. I have to try, though.”

***** 

**February 27, 2016  
Malibu, California**

Everything just felt unimportant. 

It took Sansa a while to realize that was the particular feeling that was eating at her. It wasn’t grief for Robb – although that was always there right next to the grief for Father. It wasn’t missing her mother and siblings, though that was there too. It wasn’t even the feeling of finality with which she had said goodbye to Jon. 

Things back in LA just felt… unimportant. 

The realization of that hit her after she’d been back west for a little over a month. Sansa was out at another overpriced bar in Malibu with Shae and some other girls from the agency. They were gossiping about celebrities and other models and their agents over sugary drinks and tapas and all of sudden Sansa just couldn’t help but realize how utterly unimportant all of this was. There had been a time, not that long ago at all, that Sansa would have been absorbed in the conversation. She’d have laughed and sipped at her electric blue drink and maybe even slyly share why she’d nicknamed Petyr Littlefinger just to earn some more giggles from her friend. But now? 

Now she just wanted to pour her drink into the garden beside their table and check the police blotter for New York City. 

See, something monumental had shifted since she returned. 

When she was a kid, and then a teenager, Sansa had no interest in what exactly the men in her life were doing when they disappeared for days at a time or came back stony and quiet. She was curious, sure, and had a vague idea, yes, but that was different than having real interest in what _exactly_ they were doing. Then, of course, she’d left New York and pretended that the whole world she’d left behind didn’t even exist. 

Now, though? 

Now she was desperate for any crumb. There were bits and pieces here in the news, if you knew what to look for and where to look, but the Starks and the other Families were good at hiding their tracks and each had a pocketful of journalists and cops and attorneys who were paid a decent penny to keep certain names and events out of papers and out of courtrooms. If anything big happened, though, Sansa would know about it. 

Sansa told herself that wasn’t why she called Arya and Mama weekly now – if not more than once a week – which was mostly true. Seeing them and her brothers and uncles again had rekindled a yearning for family that she thought had ended at Father’s funeral. Yes, she wanted to know about Arya’s soccer games and which classes she liked and what Mama was making for dinner and how Jeyne and the baby and the boys were doing, but she also knew that they would tell her if something was _really_ wrong. If something happened to Jon. 

So, you see, when her spare time was occupied by worrying about whether or not the guy she’d grown up with and maybe sorta kinda still was in love with was dead like her brother and father, it was hard to find the latest gossip important. 

“Alayne, what you do think?”

Sansa whipped her head around and focused back on her friends. She’d been staring at the building across the street lost in thought. “Hmm? About what?”

The group erupted into giggles. “Loras Tyrell. That male model from New York who’s the new face of Calvin Klein?”

Her gut twisted at the name. Margery’s brother. She hadn’t known he’d gone into modeling, though from what she remembered about him she wasn’t surprised. He’d been gorgeous even at 13. “Oh, yeah, he’s hot.”

The conversation quickly turned from her again, and Sansa checked her watch. It was almost 1:30am – so not too early that it would be weird for her to make an excuse and bail, but still early enough that Shae would send her a text asking what was really wrong. She sighed and took a sip from her drink. 

She almost didn’t notice at first when her phone began to buzz. Shae nudged her and nodded to the vibrating phone on the table. “Layney, I think that’s you.”

Frowning, Sansa grabbed it, confused as to who would be calling her this late. When she flipped it over to reveal the screen she felt her stomach drop. Sansa reached out blindly and grabbed Shae’s shoulder. “I – I have to take this.”

“Okay?” Shae responded, confused and very, very drunk. “We’ll be here.”

Shoving her way through the crowded bar, Sansa hit accept on the call. 

“Jon?” 

There was silence for a long moment, and then his voice, raw and broken and unsure. It sounded so unlike the man she’d seen hosting the Family a month earlier. “Sans? I didn’t wake you up did I?”

She finally made her way out of the crowd and pushed through the bar’s door, stumbling onto the street. “No, no – I’m out with friends.”

“Oh… I uh… I can call some other-”

“No!” she yelped. Some girls walking by gave Sansa a strange look. “No. It’s okay. I just stepped out of the bar. What’s going on? Are you okay? Is our family okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. Everyone is fine. Jesus, I didn’t even think to start with that, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

He was silent for a long moment. Sansa strained her ear, hoping to hear some background noise that would help her place him, but there was nothing. 

“Jon, are you alright?” she asked gently. 

The shaky breath he let out crackled over the phone. “I… yeah. I just wanted to talk. I wanted to talk to you.”

Sansa checked her watch again. It was 1:47am in California, which meant it was 4:47am in New York. “Are you drunk?”

“I wish.”

She smiled, but dread was tying knots in her belly. “Where are you?”

“By the pool. At the big house. We just got back.”

Sansa could picture him so well. He was probably sitting on that same lawn chair, smoking a cigarette. She wondered if it was a clear night and if he could see the stars. Sansa walked a little farther down the street until she came to a small park. “You sure you’re okay, Jon?”

“I… I just… fuck, Sans, I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to tell you about it. I just… I just want to think about something else for a little while. It was… Can you just tell me about your night? Where are you?” 

Fear curled around her throat as her mind raced with what the _it_ he didn’t want to talk about could be. Who _it_ could be. “Okay,” Sansa murmured. “Okay. Well, um, I’m out at this stupid overpriced bar in Malibu tonight. Some of the girls I work with wanted to try it out but honestly its nothing special.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. We let the bartender pick our drinks – it’s this game we play all the time because they always give us the strongest drinks that way.” There was a huff of breath on the line that she thought might be a laugh. “My friend, Shae, ended up with this ridiculous bright pink thing that came in a hollowed-out pineapple. Really, this bar is billed to be sleek and modern but it’s a glorified Chili’s.”

That got a true laugh out of him. “Remember when Bran went through that phase where every birthday dinner had to be at Chili’s?” he murmured in that low voice of his. 

Sansa smiled. “God, yes. Those were the worst six years of my life. I dreaded his birthday.”

Silence fell over them for a long moment. Sansa kicked at the grass under the bench she was sitting on. Curiosity was eating at her. She wanted to ask Jon what exactly had happened that had him so shaken – that made him call her for the first time in _years_, but she knew that was the last thing he needed at the moment. Then, of course, there was also always the danger that someone like the FBI could be listening in on the call. 

“Can you see the stars tonight,” she asked, softly. 

The silence continued for a beat. “Yeah.” 

Sansa smiled, then looked up. “I can’t see them here. There’s too much light pollution. I can barely even see planes sometimes. It’s a shame. It’d be nice to look up and see the same thing you see.” The thought made her sad. 

“Is it warm there?”

“It’s cold by California standards, but a sweltering summer day in Winterfell.”

Jon laughed again. The sound sent a warm chill through her. “You always said you wanted to live somewhere warmer. Somewhere with palm trees.”

“I had a shoot at the beach today,” Sansa told him. “It was for this local magazine and you would not believe the outfits they had me wear.” She launched into a detailed explanation of the weird, counterculture look the photographer had pushed on her, running off on tangents about various aspects of the modelling profession and local Malibu politics and the sometimes very eclectic personalities she worked with. Jon listened quietly on the other end, occasionally laughing or asking a question or cursing softly. 

When a comfortable silence fell again her watch read 2:55am. 

“Well,” Sansa muttered hesitantly. “I guess… I suppose it’s pretty late there. Or early. You should try to get _some_ sleep. It’ll make you feel better.”

“Yeah. I should let you get back to your friends. I hope they haven’t abandoned you by now.”

“Honestly, if they have it’s a blessing. I was looking for an excuse to go home. Well, not home, obviously. Back to my apartment.” The distinction didn’t strike her as odd until a couple moments later. Her apartment had been home for the past four years. In that time, she’d only spent a week in Winterfell. Jon was quiet on the other end again, so she wondered if he also thought it had been a weird thing to say. “Are you sure you’re okay, Jon?” Sansa asked one last time, voice quiet and concerned. 

“Yeah. It was just a… rough… night. But this helped. It helps to just… detach for a bit, I guess.” 

Sansa picked at her nails. She wasn’t sure how to respond. “Well, I’m glad you are okay. I – I miss you.”

“I miss you too, Sans. God, I miss you.”

“You know, you are welcome to call me whenever, right? It doesn’t just have to be when things are… when you have a rough time.” 

Jon was quiet again. “I… I think it’s better if I don’t.” 

She frowned. “What?”

“It’s not that… fuck. I just don’t want to drag you into-”

“You aren’t dragging me into anything, Jon,” Sansa replied gently. “You’re just calling.”

Suddenly Sansa heard muffled voices on the other end. “Shit, hold on Sans,” Jon muttered. She heard more muffled voices, including Jon’s gravelly tone, but she couldn’t make out words. He had to be holding his hand over the phone. “I have to go. I’m sorry. Get home safe, Sansa. Get some sleep. Thanks for this.”

“Oh, okay. Yeah, yeah, I will. You too, Jon. Get sleep at some point.”

“I’ll try.”

“Promise me-” 

“I promise I’ll try. Bye, Sansa.”

“Bye, Jon.”

After a beat more the call ended, and Sansa was left sitting on a bench in the dark feeling more alone than she had in years. 

*****

**March 7, 2016  
Malibu, California**

When Bran called her, Sansa was in the middle of cooking dinner. Her little brother didn’t call her often. Like the millennials they were, she and Bran would mostly just text with the odd facetime here and there, so when his number interrupted the music she was playing from her phone, it made Sansa frown. 

“Bran?”

“Hey Sansa. Do you have a minute?”

Her frown deepened as she cut off the stove. “Yeah, what’s wrong?”

“I’m fine. It’s just… I think maybe you should call Mama.” 

Worry etched itself into Sansa’s heart then. She sat at one of the stools at her kitchen island. “What’s wrong with Mama?”

“I don’t know. I mean, I do, I guess. She’s still… I mean everyone is still sad about Robb. But Mama isn’t handling it well. And then with Jeyne’s baby here now – which again, we all supported her naming him Robb – but I think it is just a lot for Mama to handle. She started crying in the middle of dinner tonight. Nothing prompted it, she just started crying.”

Guilt picked away at Sansa. She wondered if things would be different if she’d stayed. 

“I don’t think it helps that I’ve picked a college,” Bran continued. “Now it’s real to her that I’m going to be in Boston in the fall and she’s only going to have Rickon in the house. I mean she has Jon and Jeyne too, both of whom she loves, but they aren’t her kids and they don’t need her the same way.”

“Okay,” Sansa murmured. “Thanks for letting me know, Bran. I’ll call her, okay?”

“Okay,” her brother responded. The sadness in his voice made Sansa want to cry. 

“Bran?”

“Yeah, Sansa?”

“You know this isn’t your fault, right? We’re all so proud that you are going to Harvard. Don’t feel bad about it, alright?”

Her brother was silent for a long moment. “Yeah, alright. Bye Sansa. Love you.”

“Love you too little brother.”

Sansa at her island for a long while, just staring at her dark phone. The stir-fry that was cooling on the stove remained utterly forgotten. Not for the first time since coming back to California did Sansa think about what Father Tarly had said – that she was a calming force for the Starks. That it was good she’d been back home. 

Also not for the first time did she wonder if she was truly where she was supposed to be. 

***** 

**April 15, 2016  
Malibu, California**

In the end, she left California in much the same way that she came to it. 

On Friday night, after a particularly ridiculous photoshoot that had mainly consisted of her avoiding Petyr’s leering gaze, she sat down on her couch with a bottle of wine and purchased a one-way plane ticket to New York. 

On Saturday, she went through her belongings sorting out what she could and could not live without, packed away what she needed, arranged for a reseller to pick up her furniture, and called Shae to explain everything. 

On Sunday morning, she took an uber to the airport and sent Petyr an email she’d been drafting for weeks telling him she quit, he could have the car back, and that she was leaving. 

By the time the sun rose in California, Sansa was in the air and once again hoping she was making the right choice. 

What it all came down to, really, was her family. Not the Family. 

Sansa, after all, was a Stark. And like a wolf pack, the Starks stuck together.

More than that, though, she was simply ready to come _home_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really want to use the term "Don" instead of "Boss" but then I would have to write "Don Jon" and I refuse to do that because it sounds too ridiculous lol


	4. Part Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, I’m a slut for politics. I know attorneys general are not elected in the spring and I know Albany is the capital of New York, but this is fanfiction where no rules apply. I was also raised Catholic, but have long since left, so please don’t @ me about baptism/godparent stuff. 
> 
> Sorry for the long wait!!! I hope this somewhat makes up for it. 
> 
> Also, [here](https://www.bergdorfgoodman.com/p/alexander-mcqueen-off-the-shoulder-draped-duchess-satin-dress-prod148210212?childItemId=BGB4ZDW_&navpath=cat000000_cat000002_cat441206_cat80001_cat285304&page=0&position=60&uuid=PDP_PAGINATION_743896470612105eabd93fb2fdc15a2b_ll-5PQwfAzDkxPh2Sx5qDh296rQyOG3DBi8CIRBv.jsession) is Sansa’s dress for the ~event~ in this chapter.

**April 15, 2016  
Atlanta, Georgia**

She called Uncle Ben as soon as she stepped off the jet bridge in Atlanta. 

“Sansa?”

“Hey Uncle Ben.”

“Is something wrong, sweetheart?”

Sansa’s stomach twisted in nerves. “Um, no.” She swept her eyes over the busy terminal. “Uncle Ben, this is going to sound a little crazy – and I’m so sorry for the short notice, but I wasn’t sure if I was actually going to do it and I didn’t want to get everyone’s hopes up if I ended up bailing so I didn’t think to-”

“Sansa, dear, you’re rambling. What’s going on? Are you in trouble?”

She sighed loudly, ignoring a curious look from a stranger. “No. I’m actually in Atlanta. Uncle Ben-“

“Atlanta?”

“The airport. I’m coming home. For good, I think.”

There was silence on the other end for a long moment. “Home. To Winterfell?”

“Yeah.”

“Sansa, we talked about this. We talked about you-”

“I know,” she interrupted. Frowning, Sansa took a seat at Dunkin’ Donuts and strummed her manicured nails against the plastic table nervously. “I know we talked about how it was better for me to be away from… from the business. But I miss everyone, Uncle Ben. It was easier to ignore before, I guess, but coming home for Robb’s funeral just made me realize how much I’d missed everyone and all the moments I’ll never get back. Plus, with Bran leaving soon Mama will be upset. Everyone knows he’s her favorite.”

“Now that isn’t true.”

She smiled. “It is. But that’s okay because I know I’m your favorite.”

Her uncle chuckled. “You’re really coming back, huh?”

“Yeah,” she nodded, though he couldn’t see her. “Yeah, I am.”

“Well, I can’t say I’m not excited. And I trust you, sweetheart. I’m sure you thought it through.”

“I did.”

“You’re looking for a ride from the airport, I suppose?”

“If you have time, that would be-”

“Of course I have time for you. Text me the details. I’ll let Jon know and we can-“

“No!” Sansa squeaked, earning the glare of an older woman at the table next to her. “No, I, uh, I want it to be a surprise. I want to surprise the family. If you tell Jon, he’ll tell Arya and Arya will tell everyone.”

Uncle Ben chuckled again. “Alright, let me know when you need me and I’ll be there. You have a lot of luggage?”

“Only the essentials. I figured I can just get new things in New York.” Sansa winced a little at how privileged she sounded, but the truth was she had been so desperate to just leave that she didn’t mind also leaving nearly all her possessions and clothes behind. She’d packed everything she couldn’t live without in her carry on, a backpack, and one checked bag, and left before she could change her mind. But she didn’t want to tell Uncle Ben that. She didn’t want to deal with his questions and worries. 

“Well, okay then. I’ll see you soon.”

“See you soon, Uncle Ben. Thanks again.”

“No problem, sweetheart.”

She hung up the phone and slumped back in her seat, suddenly exhausted. Sansa was just about to collect her bags and start heading towards her gate when the CNN program on the tv hanging around the terminal caught her ear. 

_And in other news, New York has elected a new Attorney General in the special election held this week. In a surprise win, Jon Connington will be replacing the late former Attorney General Gerold Hightower. Connington has been a District Attorney in New York City for several years now, following a successful career representing Targaryen Casinos in Las Vegas, Nevada. Despite his alleged ties to the Targaryen’s historical involvement in organized crime in New York, he was elected by an overwhelming majority. In Colorado, a wildfire has broken out in…_

Sansa glanced down and unlocked her phone, quickly googling Jon Connington. The name had already been a familiar one, but as soon as the newscaster connected it to Targaryen Casinos, she had connected the dots. She didn’t remember much about the Targaryens – the family had crashed and burned when she was only a little girl, even before Jon had come to live with them. But growing up a Stark, she heard things (despite her father’s efforts to prevent negative comments about the family in front of Jon). She knew the Targaryens and the Starks had bad blood going back decades – that they were blamed for her Uncle Brandon’s death. She also knew they had once been the most powerful family in New York. Why someone connected to them would be returning to the city now was puzzling – and troubling. 

_At least it wasn’t the Lannister pick,_ she thought as she scrolled through news articles about Connington’s victory. _But it wasn’t the Stark pick either._

***** 

**April 15, 2016  
Winterfell, New York**

Uncle Ben greeted Sansa at the airport with a tight bear hug. “I missed you, sweetheart,” he told her, grinning ear to ear. 

It was hard not to match his smile. “I missed you too. You didn’t tell them I was coming, did you?” she asked as they began to walk to where a black SUV was waiting. 

“And ruin your surprise? Of course not.”

They spent the car ride home catching up – Sansa sharing what she had been up to over the past few months as Uncle Benjen told her all about little Robb’s birth. She was excited to see her whole family, but especially excited to see the baby. Her big brother was a constant ache in her heart, and Sansa hoped that being able to watch his son grow would ease that pain. 

By the time they pulled through the gates of the Stark compound, night had fallen. Nerves began to twist and writhe in Sansa’s stomach as they approached the big house. What if they were disappointed she was back? What if this wasn’t the right choice?

“Cat will be finishing up with dinner, I imagine,” Uncle Ben said as he parked the car. “The boys are all home tonight, so are Jeyne and the baby.”

“And Jon?”

Sansa caught the little smile Uncle Ben tried to hide in the rearview mirror. She blushed, remembering how Arya and Robb had both clued into what happened between her and Jon. _Did Uncle Ben know too? _

“Jon’s in the city tonight – he’ll be back later though.” 

“And things with the business?” Sansa asked before her nerves failed; before Benjen could open the door. “Are they… good?” 

Uncle Ben sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Sansa, I thought you didn’t want-” 

“Well, I’m here now, aren’t I? I’m not asking for details.” 

“They’re fine,” Ben said tersely. He caught her eye in the rearview mirror and sighed again. “I hope you don’t mean to involve yourself.” 

Sansa pursed her lips but said nothing. 

A minute later they were walking up the steps to the house. Ben glanced at her, his smile growing. “Ready?” 

She nodded, her own grin blossoming as he pushed open the door and she immediately heard the familiar sounds of her family. That traditional Irish music Mama loved so much was playing, and she could hear Rickon’s loud voice discussing the play by play of his latest baseball game. There was a clatter of dishes and the whole house smelled like Mama’s cooking. It was enough to make her almost cry with relief. It felt good, so so so good, to be home. 

“Cat?” Uncle Ben called, leaving her bags in the foyer and striding down the hall. “Boys? Jeyne? I’ve got a surprise for you.” 

“Ben?” her mother’s voice called. “Your surprise better be that basil I asked for. You’ve been gone for-” Catelyn Stark stopped midsentence when she stepped out of the kitchen, sauce spoon still steaming in her hand. “Sansa?” 

Immediately the rest of the Starks were crowding behind her. “Sansa!” Rickon shouted, running forward to envelop her in a tight hug. He was impossibly even taller than he had been when she saw him in January. Her mother was next, then Jeyne, who introduced her to baby Robb who had his father’s coloring and was so sweet Sansa began to actually weep. Bran was last, and a fresh round of tears slipped down Sansa’s cheeks when she leaned into her brother's arms, hugging him as best she could around the chair, and he told her quietly and earnestly, “_Thank you_.” 

“How long are you here for?” Catelyn asked, wiping at her eyes with her faded apron. It was the one Sansa had known all her life – the one with red and blue fish that her father had given her mother one year on her birthday. 

“I’m here for good,” Sansa smiled, hugging her mom again. “At least for a long while.” 

Catelyn hugged her even tighter then. “Oh Sansa, oh my baby, I’m so happy.” 

***** 

**April 16, 2016  
Winterfell, New York**

Over dinner, Mama had told her that Jon moved back in for appearances after Robb’s funeral. It was only expected that the Boss would live in the Stark mansion outside Winterfell as that had been the Family’s stronghold since its founding a century and a half earlier. And while he spent most nights in the city at one of the Family’s safe houses or another, Uncle Ben had said Jon was home every Sunday for church and dinner. It being a Saturday night, his appearance was only a matter of time. 

After the dishes had been cleared and everyone went their separate ways – Bran and Rickon preparing to play video games, her mother and Uncle Ben retreating to the library, Jeyne and baby Robb to the nursery – Sansa found herself walking a familiar path to the room Jon had inhabited as a boy and that she assumed he slept in now. For some strange reason, she felt almost guilty pushing the door open and flipping on the light. It felt a lot of like snooping (which, to be fair, it was) but she didn’t mean anything bad by it. Sansa was just curious about the man he’d become. She’d seen so little of him back in January. And that had been just days after he took over. Now, he’d been leading for a few months. Uncle Howland had always told her leadership changed a man. 

After Jon moved into the studio above the stables when he’d turned seventeen, Catelyn had converted his room back into a guest room for when Grandpa Hoster or Uncle Edmure came to visit from Boston; like it had been before Jon came to live with them. It still looked like it had after that remodel. Clean and sterile with Catelyn’s feminine touches and the usual grey and white scheme of the Starks. But the sweaters and jackets in the closet were clearly Jon’s, as were the books on the bedside table and the stack of New York Times crosswords scattered on the desk. Sansa smiled as her hand ran along the puzzles torn from the pages of the newspaper. Back when Jon had first moved in with the Starks, he’d been so silent and so distant those first days. Then, over breakfast one morning, he’d noticed Father working on the crossword and began helping him figure out the answers. She remembered staring wide-eyed next to Robb as Jon answered even the hints Father couldn’t figure out. It had become a special thing between Jon and Ned. Something that only they shared in a house full of children, each louder than the last. 

Sansa wondered where Jon was that night. She frowned, remembering his call a month earlier and how utterly broken he’d sounded on the line. Uncle Ben hadn’t told her anything about the business – nor had Arya in all the times they’d talked. She had no idea how things truly stood. If they were better or worse. The story she’d caught at the airport about Jon Connington flashed in her mind. Sansa resolved to ask Jon about it when he got to the house. He’d certainly know of him considering the man had been elected as Attorney General. 

With a sigh, Sansa flicked off the light. 

She took a shower and put on one of Robb’s old sweatshirts and some leggings, scrolling through her social media and trying to pass the time as she waited for the familiar beep of the gates and click of the front door. At midnight, she debated just going to bed but instead found herself standing outside the door to Father’s study. In all her childhood, she’d never been inside. From as early as she could remember, Sansa had been forbidden to go in the dark, wood-paneled room whether or not Father was meeting with his men in it. The first time she’d seen the study had been months ago when she was there with Jon. But that night, she’d been far too tired and far too focused on the man she’d been with to give the room a proper look. 

With a furtive, and unnecessary, glance up and down the dark hallway, Sansa pushed down the polished bronze handle and slipped inside. Even with the desk lamp on, the room was clouded in shadows. It was almost comical, really, how well it matched every stereotype of a mob boss’s lair. The walls were lined in shelves of books – mostly law books, though Sansa was sure those weren’t used to ensure the actions agreed to in the room were legal. The books immediately behind the huge, ancient oak desk were all logbooks of the various individuals and families and businesses under the protective arm of the Stark Family. Sansa ran her finger along their spines and let her eyes adjust to the yellow light of the desk’s tiffany lamp. The two bits of wall that weren’t covered by polished, wood bookshelves were instead covered by an enormous map of New York City (which itself was riddled with pins and string and marks that Sansa didn’t understand) and what looked to be a hundred little photographs in bronze frames of Stark family members dating back to great-great-great Grandfather Brandon’s days. Sansa was examining the first photograph ever taken of the mansion outside Winterfell a when she heard the familiar beep of the gate. 

A chill ran through her and suddenly she was nervous. She’d known her mother and brothers and Jeyne would be happy to see her and to know she was home for good. Jon, however, had been adamant she leave back in January. She was one more person he had to protect now. One more life that depended on his decisions. For a moment, Sansa debated leaving the study she knew Jon would soon visit and instead of taking the coward’s way out and hiding in her room. But no. She’d made this choice just like she’d made the choice to leave all those years ago. Sansa was here. She’d known what that meant when she purchased the plane ticket back to New York. 

Jon knew she was in the room before he even opened the door. 

Sansa could tell from her seat behind the oak desk because his heavy footsteps stopped abruptly outside the closed door. He saw the light, she supposed, and knew that everyone else would be in bed. That nobody else would have the nerve to sit and wait in here for him. Despite Uncle Ben’s earnest insistence he wouldn’t tell Jon – that he would keep it a surprise – Sansa knew better. Bosses didn’t like surprises. And men in this business lied to women all the time to distract them from the reality hidden just beneath the surface. 

When Sansa heard the door handle turn, she clenched her fingers into the soft leather of Father’s chair. _Jon’s chair now_. 

He was dressed in a tuxedo that must have looked especially sharp on him a few hours ago but was now slightly crumpled with the bowtie askew. His hair was equally rumpled. Knowing him, that was likely due to running his fingers through it whenever he felt nervous. He must have been quite nervous that night. His grey eyes were as dark as the sleepless bruises beneath them. His gaze hard and angry. 

“So, Ben wasn’t joking, then.” 

Sansa crossed her legs daintily but didn’t leave his chair. She picked at a piece of lint off her leggings. “He wasn’t supposed to tell you.” 

“Oh?” Jon yanked off his bowtie and flung it onto the leather couch beneath the heavily curtained window. 

“It was a surprise.” 

Jon stayed silent, and somehow that made Sansa feel his anger much more than any words could have conveyed. She watched, foot bobbing with nerves, as he moved towards the cabinet under the huge map of the city that housed various glass bottles of dark liquor rather than books or files. 

“It just felt wrong to be away,” Sansa added. Jon selected a bottle and began to pour himself a drink. “I needed the distance when I was younger. But after losing Robb and then seeing how much Mama needs me here and with the new baby… I don’t know. Everything in California felt so meaningless all of a sudden.” 

Jon scoffed and downed the drink in one swallow. His back was still to her. Suddenly, Sansa grew angry. Why should she have to explain herself to him? She was her own person. If she wanted to leave, she could. If she wanted to come home, she could. Jon had no say over the matter. Her nails bit into the leather of the chair as she watched him pour another drink. “The fact is, I’m here and I’m going to stay. At least for a while.” 

When he still didn’t turn to face her, Sansa rolled her eyes. She stood, moving around the desk, and strode over to where he stood looking at the map on the wall. Reaching around him, Sansa grabbed what looked like a decanter of bourbon. In a flash, Jon’s hand gripped her wrist. He used the sudden leverage to turn her towards him. 

“You shouldn’t be here,” he told her a low voice. His eyes looked impossibly darker in the dim light. “You shouldn’t be in this room and you shouldn’t be in New York.” 

Sansa ripped her hand out of his grip and moved again for the bourbon. This time Jon didn’t stop her. “Well that doesn’t change the fact that I am here.” 

_“Sansa.” _

__

“You know, the courteous thing to do, even if you aren’t actually happy to see someone, is first say hello and ask them how their-” 

__

“Sansa.” 

__

“-trip was and whether they’d like-” 

__

“Sansa.” 

__

“Jesus, what?” she erupted, swerving back to face him with her drink now in hand. Jon’s face was so solemn and grim that it made Sansa’s fingers curl around the glass a little tighter. He took a step closer to her, invading her space. The action made it seem as if he loomed above her, dark and dangerous and clearly barely reining in his anger. He looked especially handsome in his tux and Sansa couldn’t help but loathe the way the long, white scar on his face had only made him more attractive. 

__

“We talked about this. Back in January. It isn’t safe for you here.” 

__

Sansa rolled her eyes. “It isn’t safe for anyone here.” 

__

“Precisely. You were supposed to go back to California.” 

__

“And I did. Then Jeyne had her baby and Bran said Mama was struggling after Robb and-” 

__

“So it isn’t just because I told you not to come back?” Jon’s voice was low. He downed his drink immediately after asking the question, which Sansa now realized he’d been burning to ask this whole time. Her eyes narrowed in irritation as she watched him stalk over to his desk and lean against it, shrugging out of his tuxedo jacket. 

__

“Is that what you think?” she hissed. 

__

Jon shrugged and removed his cufflinks. “When I wanted you to stay, you left. When I wanted you to leave, you stayed.” His eyes remained on hers as he began to roll up his sleeves. 

__

Sansa scoffed and threw back her drink. It burned going down her throat, but she refused to wince or cough in front of Jon. When she opened her eyes, he still had his fuming gaze fixed on her, though she caught the moment his eyes moved from where they’d watched the bob of her throat as she swallowed back up to her face. “You’re an idiot,” Sansa muttered, turning away from his heated stare. Instead of pouring another drink she studied the map on the wall. “What do these red pins mean?” 

__

“That’s not your business.” 

__

“You know,” she mused, strumming her nails on the edged glass in her hand. “I always did find this practice of never telling women _anything_ terribly misogynistic.” 

__

Jon scoffed behind her. “It’s not because you’re a woman. You chose to leave the business.” 

__

“I was never given the opportunity to enter it.” 

__

“Are you saying _you_ want to be a part? You want to deal yourself in?” His voice was mocking and incredulous. Sansa dropped the glass back on the counter with an air of disinterest before turning back to him. She ignored his snarky questions, partially out of irritation but mostly because she didn’t have an answer. 

“I’m back, Jon. I don’t know how long I’m staying, but I do know it’ll be a while.” She began to walk towards the door. “I’ll stay out of your way if that’s what you want. I’m here for Mama, Jeyne, and the boys. Not for you. And not for your bullshit.” As she moved to pass him, Jon shot out an arm and caught her. His grip was tight on her elbow. Sansa glared down at that stupid golden ring on his hand. 

“You’ll let me know when you are leaving the house and where you are going. You won’t drop Jory when he’s with you.” 

Sansa fixed a scathing glare on him. “You aren’t my father.” 

At that Jon straightened, standing at his full height, and she had to admit that here in the gloom of this study (with its dark wood and dark liquor and dark books) he looked like something straight out of a Scorsese film. “No, but I am the head of the Family. And if you are living in this house again, you’ll follow my rules.” 

“This is _my_ childhood home,” Sansa seethed. She yanked her arm and Jon released it. Even free of his grip, though, she felt frozen in place.

“You know how this works, Sans. You aren’t stupid. And like you said, you _chose_ to come back.” 

She was so infuriated she could hit him. Instead, she kissed him. Hard and angry and brutal – more teeth than lips and more a punishment than a pleasure. Jon gave as good as he got. His fingers dug into the soft flesh of her hips as he slumped back against the desk and pulled her between his legs. Both of them were out of breath by the time they pulled away. 

“I’m not yours to order around,” Sansa whispered against his lips, still fuming. 

Jon tightened his grip on her. “We aren’t going to do this again.” 

“What? Argue? Good luck stopping that.” 

He leaned down and bit at her pulse point. Sansa dug her nails into the exposed skin of his forearms. “We aren’t gonna fuck. You and I are not going to be a thing again,” he growled against her skin. 

“You sure about that?” 

Suddenly, Jon pushed her away. His bruised lips were tight and frowning. His brows drawn heavy over his eyes. “Yes. I’m not dragging you into this more than you’ve already dragged yourself.” 

Sansa scoffed. “Whatever you need to tell yourself, Jon.” 

“For fuck’s sake, Sansa, I’m serious. This can’t happen.” 

“It’s been lovely to see you again too,” she spit out before slipping out of the study and slamming the door behind her. 

***** 

**April 20, 2016  
Winterfell, New York**

Baby Robb may be the most precious little thing Sansa has ever laid her eyes on despite the pang of mourning and grief that cuts into her heart when she sees his little auburn curls that are somehow _already_ coming in or offhandedly hears someone mention Robb and for one glorious moment thinks it is in reference to her living, breathing big brother. 

Not even a week after coming home, snuggling him is already Sana’s favorite thing to do. 

“Should I be worried that my son is going to love you more than me?” Jeyne laughed, collapsing into the couch next to Sansa. 

She looked up from the baby in her arms and smiled at her sister-in-law. “Impossible. Though I do plan on utterly spoiling him.” 

Jeyne grinned and leaned her cheek against Sansa’s shoulder, looking down at her son. “He’s already grown so much. Your mother told me that would happen, but I just can’t believe it. He’ll be a man before we know it.” 

Both women fell silent at that, their smiles shriveling upon their faces as each internalized the implication of little Robb growing up. Of the choice he’d have to make. Of the Family he’d likely join. That he’d be expected to join. 

“It could be different,” Sansa whispered, her thumb brushing against the baby’s silky curls. “Make him go to college. Make him leave. You could leave; go stay with your parents in Florida.” 

Jeyne sighed, adjusting her son’s blanket. “When I married Robb his family became my family. This is where I belong.” 

“This isn’t the 14th century, Jeyne. You belong wherever you want to belong.” 

Her sister-in-law forced a smile on her face. “Are you trying to get rid of me, Sansa Stark?” Jeyne’s voice was playing and teasing, but Sansa could her the fear beneath it. The toll this life had taken on Jeyne; the pain that hadn’t been there when they were teenagers. 

“I’ve been thinking,” Sansa said, handing Robb back to his mother. 

“Oh?” Jeyne hugged her son close to her chest. 

“I’m trying to figure out what I want to do here – I don’t want to just laze about the house, but I don’t want to go back into modeling. I think in the fall I’ll start taking classes at Winterfell University.” 

“That’s wonderful,” Jeyne smiled. 

Blushing, Sansa ducked her head. “Thanks. In the meantime, though, I’d love to help you at the bakery – if you need any help that is. I don’t have much experience, but I could work the register or make drinks. I’m a quick learner.” 

After high school, Jeyne had begun working at the small bakery the Starks had owned for decades in Winterfell. Over the years, it had become her own. The little shop had always been one of Sansa’s favorite places as a child – the lemon cakes being an absolute delight matched only by the charmingly antiquated décor that made Sansa feel as if she’d stepped back into the 1940’s. 

“I’d hardly say you have no experience,” Jeyne grinned. “How many times have you and I baked together?” 

Sansa laughed. “That was years ago! The only time I baked something in the last five years was with you in January.” 

Grinning, Jeyne shrugged. “It’ll come back to you. I’d love to have your help, Sansa.” The older woman rested her head on Sansa’s shoulder. “I’m so glad you are here, you know? I love your mother, but it isn’t the same as having a woman near your age. And none of my friends in town understand what… what this life is.” 

“I’m sorry I missed your wedding.” 

Jeyne shook her head. “I understand. You don’t need to apologize.” She sighed and handed her baby back to Sansa. “I always saw you as a little sister you know.” 

Sansa’s blue eyes met Jeyne’s brown. She grinned, unable to contain her affection. “I always wished you were my sister.” 

“Well, we are sisters now.” Jeyne looked at Sansa for a long moment, a strange expression on her face. “Sansa, I’ve been thinking about this for a long time, and I know that… well, that you aren’t as religious as you were when you lived at home before, but if you’d accept it, I would love for you to be little Robbie’s godmother.” 

Sansa’s heart skipped a beat. “Really?” 

Jeyne nodded, smiling a little shyly. “It’s what Robb wanted. And it’s what I want.” 

Tears pricked at Sansa’s eyes as she nodded furiously. “Of course, Jeyne. I’m honored.” She pulled the other woman into a tight hug before leaning down to press a kiss to her godson’s head. 

Jeyne giggled, brushing the tears from her own eyes. “The baptism is going to be in a couple of weeks.” 

“I suppose I’ll have to go speak with Father Tarly some.” 

Her sister-in-law shook her head. “You can be as involved in the Church as you want, it matters more to me that you are just there for Robbie.” 

Sansa leaned her head against the other woman’s shoulder. “Of course, I’ll be here for him. Always.” A comfortable silence fell over them as they gazed at the sleeping baby in Sansa’s arms. It was broken as a thought crossed Sansa’s mind. “Who did you pick as his godfather?” 

“Oh, Jon seemed like the appropriate choice. He and Robb were so close, and now that he’s taken over the business it just seemed right.” 

As if summoned by her words, the man in question stepped into the den, tugging off a tie. It was the first time Sansa had seen him since Sunday when they’d stiffly avoided each other’s eye during breakfast and sat on opposite ends of the pew at Mass. Jon leaned down and pressed a kiss to Jeyne’s head over the couch. After hesitating a moment, he did the same to Sansa. The feel of his lips pressed to her hair sent a shiver down her back.

“Speak of the devil,” she murmured. The irony of that statement after finding out he’d been named Robb’s godfather wasn’t lost on her.

“I’m the devil now, am I?” Jon sat beside her, reaching out to take Robb from her arms. Sansa began to examine her nails. She refused to look at Jon holding the baby, knowing full well the effect it would have on her. 

Jeyne laughed. “Hardly, Jon. I was just telling Sansa that you’re going to be Robbie’s godfather.” 

Sansa finally spared a glance at the man next to her. He smoothed his thumbs over his godson’s cheeks, a dazed smile on his lips that made something low in her belly swoop. He’d always been so good with kids. She wanted to hate him for it. She wanted to hate him. 

But, God. She’d never been able to hate Jon Snow. 

“And,” Jeyne continued, voice lilting in a suggestive way that made Sansa’s brows furrow. “I asked Sansa to be his godmother.” 

Jon’s thumbs stilled as he looked up at her then. His expression was guarded, but Sansa knew him; she could see the emotion behind his cool, grey eyes. “You’re his godmother?” 

Biting her lip, Sansa nodded. “Guess you and I are stuck together thanks to this little guy,” she murmured. Reaching out, Sansa smoothed a hand over the baby’s hair. 

“Oh yes,” Jeyne said. Her voice was still in that strange high lilt. The same one she’d used when asking Sansa all about her crushes in high school. “You two will be spending lots of time together now I’m sure.” 

A blush colored Jon’s cheeks and Sansa could feel it reflected on her own. Hastily, Jon handed the baby back to Sansa and stood. He cleared his throat. “Is Ben here? I need to go over the financial books with him.” 

Jeyne was practically smirking now. “He’s out at his cottage. Are you staying for dinner?” 

Already heading for the door, Jon nodded. 

Once he’d left, Jeyne turned back to Sansa, grinning. “I’ll go put Robbie down for a nap. Then you and I can discuss the bakery.” 

Sansa nodded, face still flushed, and wondered whether her sweet sister-in-law had an ulterior motive when she picked her son’s godparents. 

God. They really hadn’t been as good about sneaking around as they’d thought, huh? 

***** 

**April 30, 2016  
New York, New York**

When Mama invited her into town for lunch with Jeyne as a treat, Sansa had jumped on the opportunity. She loved the Stark estate and Winterfell; loved Jeyne’s bakery and all her old haunts around town – but God, she _missed_ New York. She missed the bustle of it; the constant shifting action. It was what she missed about her life in LA too. There was always something happening – some wonderful distraction for her own life and the problems that came with it. 

The women picked a little Italian restaurant in Manhattan, a place that Catelyn warmly told Sansa and Jeyne had been there since she was a girl. It was cute and quaint, and the food was amazing, but really, Sansa should have known that a day in the city would never just be a day in the city for her. For any of the Starks. 

“Cat! There are you.” 

Frowning, Sansa turned at her Uncle Howland’s voice. To her surprise she saw Jon beside the older man. She looked back at her mother. “Mama, you didn’t tell me the guys were joining us.” 

Catelyn smiled in that tight way of hers. “I didn’t know if they would come, but I always let your Uncles know when I’m heading into the city.” 

Sansa chanced a look at Jeyne who was smiling brightly at Jon and Howland as they took their seats. “Well isn’t this a pleasant surprise,” Jeyne said. 

Jon glanced at Sansa. She fixed a smile on her face. His rejection still hurt, though she did understand it. Things just felt off-kilter with him now. She didn’t know how to be around him, and that discomfort made her antsy. Made her angry. 

“Well, we couldn’t pass up the opportunity to see some lovely faces for change, could we Jon?” 

Jon tore his eyes from Sansa. “We certainly couldn’t.” 

The conversation soon shifted to Catelyn’s work at the mission, then to Jeyne’s bakery, then to local politics and small Family dramas. Through it all, Sansa picked at her carbonara in a slight daze, trying with all her might not to just stare at Jon. At one point their feet brushed under the table and the warm spark that ran up her body nearly made her jolt. 

Then someone mentioned the name Connington and Sansa’s attention was dragged back into the conversation. 

“I saw that, when I was at the airport there was a story about him being elected Attorney General.” 

Uncle Howland nodded. “It came as a surprise to all of us. None of the families were backing him, as far as we know.” His eyes shifted over to Jon briefly, then away. The name _Targaryen_ hung over the group, unspoken but heavy on the air. “Lemore Septa is holding a celebratory party for him tomorrow. Jon has the lucky distinction of being invited.” 

Jon rolled his eyes. “I’d rather sit through a week of lunches with Walder Frey than attend.” 

“Ned was never a fan of Connington,” Catelyn mused. 

“Who knows,” Uncle Howland shrugged. “Maybe he’ll surprise us all and be a blessing.” 

Jon gave him a hard look. “I somehow doubt this is good for us.” 

“Do you think he’ll target the business?” Sansa asked. Four pairs of eyes turned to her in surprise, which only annoyed her. They were talking about the Family, so why shouldn’t she? 

Across from her, Jon shrugged. “He certainly won’t be purchasable like the last one. We’ll just have to work smarter. I’m hoping to get a feel of him tomorrow night.” 

“I’ll make you a special batch of those chocolate cookies you like, if that’s any consolation,” Jeyne told him. 

Jon smiled appreciatively. 

“What would really make the night bearable,” Uncle Howland said, “is having a pretty woman on his arm.” 

Jon groaned as Jeyne giggled. “Oh, come on, Jon. It’s been how long since Alys?" 

Something unpleasant tightened in Sansa’s chest. Who was this Alys? She glanced at Jon. How many women had he dated while she’d been away? Had any of them been serious? Had he been in love? She pushed at the forgotten pasta on her plate. There was so much she didn’t know; so much she had missed. 

“I’m not dragging some poor girl into this,” Jon grumbled, aggressively avoiding looking at Sansa. 

“You forget my dear,” Uncle Howland told Jeyne fondly. “Our Jon cannot stand these kinds of schmoozy parties.” 

“Oh, but young ladies love them,” Catelyn said. Then, to Sansa’s horror, her mother looked her in eye with a wide smile. “Sansa, dear, you must have gone to lots of fancy parties in Los Angeles. You should go with Jon and keep him company.” 

“Oh, that’s a wonderful idea!” Jeyne exclaimed. 

“Indeed,” Uncle Howland added. “Could soften you up a bit, son. The last thing we need is you biting Connington’s head off.” 

Sansa could feel a blush creeping over her cheeks. 

“I hardly think Sansa wants to go any more than I do.” 

She looked back at Jon who was giving Uncle Howland a hard look. 

“Well, let’s let Sansa decide,” Jeyne said, turning to her. “Sansa, will you make Jon’s night a little less miserable tomorrow? I know you’ve been itching to get out of the house.” 

Sansa froze like a deer in the headlight, her mouth slightly agape. “Well… I, um… I..” she stuttered, rather unsure about what she wanted. 

She thanked Mary and Joseph and all the Saints when an enormously obese man interrupted the conversation. Never in her life had Sansa been so grateful to see Wyman Manderley. 

“Well isn’t this a lovely surprise,” he boomed, smiling widely at the family. “Jon,” Wyman bowed his head respectfully in the deference a member of the Family was expected to show the boss. “Cat, I’ve been hoping to catch you sometime this week. It’s about the charity dinner at the church next month.” 

Sansa tuned out Wyman’s conversation with Mama, focusing on her food and trying to decide how she felt about attending a function with Jon tomorrow. Not only would it mean hours alone with Jon, but it would mean truly stepping into this world. Stepping into the business. There’s no way that she could be seen at such an event with Jon, even if she were just there as a friend and nothing more, without attention being drawn. It would be a statement. A very clear statement. 

When Sansa finally looked up from her pasta, the seat across from her was empty. Jeyne leaned over and whispered, “Smoke break, I think,” in a that lilted, knowing tone that was starting to irritate Sansa to her bones. What did Jeyne know about her history with Jon? What did any of them know? Even if some had their suspicions – even if Robb and Arya had absolutely known - _nobody_ really knew what had existed between her and Jon five years ago. It had been theirs and only theirs. A small, precious thing that she still cradled in her chest. 

Pursing her lips tight, Sansa pushed away from the table and excused herself with some mumbled excuse about needing some air. 

She found him outside in the side alley smoking a cigarette. 

Jon glanced up and upon recognizing her immediately clenched his jaw. Leaning against the wall next to him, Sansa held out her hand as if asking for a drag. The second he passed the cigarette over, though, she threw it on the pavement and stepped on it. 

“You know I have more, right?” 

“You need to quit.” 

Jon rolled his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall. She took a minute to look him over – the clear cut of his clean-shaven jaw, the hard line of his brow, those damned bruises that always seemed to be under his eyes now. “You need to sleep more,” she murmured. 

Finally, Jon looked back over at her. She watched as he seemed to drink in her appearance as well. “So, what, you’re my mother now?” 

Sansa scoffed. “Don’t be an ass. I care about you.” 

At that Jon softened and had the decency to look sheepishly at his boots. “You don’t have to go to this event, you know.” 

“I know,” Sansa replied. She tapped the toe of her heels against the side of Jon’s boot to draw his attention back to her. There was a small, fond smile on his face when he looked up at her again. Somehow, that made her decision for her. “I don’t have to, but I want to.” 

Jon’s smile fell. “You realize this is a business thing?” 

“Of course. You wouldn’t waste your time with it if it didn’t have something to do with the Family.” 

“And you want to go?” 

Sansa nodded. Jon continued to stare at her incredulously. 

“I made the choice to come back here. I knew what that meant." 

“It doesn’t have to mean that,” Jon told her gently. “Jeyne stays out of it. Your mother does too now.” 

She thought about Jeyne – how she spent her days in the house or at the bakery and purposefully tuned out any mention of the business. How her world remained safe and small and normal. Then she thought about what that choice had cost Jeyne. How the woman had never truly known her husband. Never truly known the Starks. 

“Maybe I don’t want to be like Jeyne.” 

Jon started to pull his pack of cigarettes out of his pocket but shoved them back in when he met Sansa’s glare. He sighed. “It’ll be a statement. The Families will all be there in some capacity. They’ll see you with me and know that means that you are taking an active role.” 

It would be a lie to say the thought didn’t make Sansa nervous. For all she acted confident, the thought of truly involving herself in the business scared her. It was something she’d once promised herself never to do. Yet, now, the thought of making that statement – that Sansa Stark _was_ a Stark after all and that she was _back_ – was somehow intoxicating to think about. Especially making that statement with Jon at her side. 

“I came back,” she finally told Jon. “I want to be a part of this. I want you to deal me in.” 

“Sansa-” 

“Don’t you dare tell me not to, Jon Snow. You _know_ I’m smarter than half the men you have whispering in your ear right now and I know damn well how to work a room.” 

He smiled at her then, a little sadly. “I’ve always known you’re capable, Sans,” Jon said. “I don’t want you to get involved because I don’t want you to be put in the danger that encompasses. If anything happened to you… Sansa, by involving yourself you make yourself a target. Especially if anyone finds out that we… what we are – or were – to each other.” 

And of course, Sansa had always known this somewhere in her heart. She’d always known that Jon’s reluctance wasn’t because she was a woman like it was with so many other men in this business. It was because she was Sansa. Even so, hearing that affirmation moved something in her. Without a thought, she reached out and grabbed his hand. It was big and warm and firm – rough with callouses and marred by scars. “I’m a Stark,” she said with a shrug. “It’s time I act like one.” 

Jon looked at her hard for a long moment, his hand still locked in her own. “You’ve never stopped acting like a Stark,” he murmured. 

Unable to resist, Sansa leaned up, grateful for the height her heels provided, and kissed him on the cheek. Jon’s eyes darkened and his thumb brushed over the top of her hand. “We should go back in,” Sansa said, suddenly uncomfortable with the heaviness that had settled over them. 

Jon cleared his throat and nodded. Dropping her hand, he gestured for her to lead the way. 

As he pulled out her chair back at the table, Sansa hoped she wouldn’t regret the choice she’d just made. If there was one thing she knew about her family’s business, it was that once you got involved – really, truly involved – you never left. But then again, looking across the table at Jon, Sansa wasn’t sure she ever wanted to leave. 

***** 

**May 1, 2016  
New York, New York**

Jory dropped Sansa off at another one of the many Stark safehouses in town that afternoon. She had hours until the event and brought nothing but an overnight bag and her dress, so as she waited for Jon to arrive Sansa explored the house. It was a beautiful two-story condo on the upper east side – far larger than the place she’d had back west. The home was sinful, truthfully. She could only imagine how much it cost. But then again, her father had always insisted on investing the Family’s wealth rather than hoarding it in a bank. The safehouses served two purposes that way. 

She’d been hoping to find some clues as to what had transpired while she’d been away – some trinkets or photographs or a woman’s toothbrush or even _panties_. Ever since Jeyne had mentioned this _Alys_ at lunch the day before, Sansa had been consumed with her need to know more about Jon’s life. She couldn’t ask, not after all of Jeyne's suggestive and not so subtle comments over the last two weeks, but God was it eating at her. 

Had he dated? How many women? Did he have someone now? Was that really why he didn’t want to continue where they’d left off? 

She sighed, leaning her head against the cool glass of window overlooking the city. Maybe he didn’t want to continue because she’d hurt him too badly. Arya had said that he’d been wrecked when she left. Sansa remembered his desperation – his frantic confession that last night before she left for LA the first time. 

She closed her eyes, trying to push down the twisting guilt and anxiety in her chest. 

She’d come back for her family – for Mama and Bran and Jeyne. 

She hadn’t come back for Jon. 

Jon was just coincidental. 

Right? 

Her phone buzzed in her pocket, jolting Sansa out of her mind. 

**Jon**  
_I'll be there soon. We’ll leave at 6pm. Thanks again, Sans._

Despite herself, Sansa found herself smiling. Of course he’d use perfect punctuation in a text. With another heavy sigh, Sansa pushed herself off the window and hopped into the shower. The dress she’d picked out for tonight was one of the indulgences she’d brought back from California. It’d been a gift from Petyr – one of many she’d received but one of the few she’d kept. A sinfully soft red satin number that hugged her curves just right and left her shoulders exposed. She’d always shied away from red because of her hair, but Sansa had learned to balance that out with an elegantly lazy updo Shae had helped her perfect during one of their Vegas getaways. 

She wanted to look good tonight. She wanted to turn heads. She wanted to make people think _Oh, _that’s_ Sansa Stark. _

And maybe, just a little bit, she wanted to make Jon think _Oh, _that’s_ Sansa Stark._

Sansa was in her robe, still drying and curling her hair, when Jon arrived. She didn’t hear him come in the condo, but he found her there in the master bathroom, his dark grey eyes meeting hers with a smile. 

_ _ _“Well,” she drawled. “I certainly hope you aren’t planning on wearing _that_.” _ _ _

_ _ _Jon smirked and looked down at his worn Winterfell crewneck sweatshirt, his messy curls tumbling. They’d grown since she’d seen him last January, but his hair was still nowhere near the mess it had been when they were a pair of dumb kids. To her disappointment, his scruffy beard was still missing. _ _ _

_ _ _“No, your Grace, I brought a tux.” _ _ _

_ _ _“Good,” she snipped, biting her lip to hide a smile. “I don’t want you embarrassing me.” _ _ _

_ _ _Jon rolled his eyes and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Well I certainly hope you aren’t planning on wearing this.”_ _ _

_ _ _“If you don’t leave me be so I can get ready, it will be what I wear. Go, we only have an hour. You’re late.”_ _ _

_ _ _He groaned and leaned against the wall, still watching her in the mirror. A small thrill went through her when she caught his eyes wandering to the slope of her neck and the sliver of pale breast her robe revealed. “What if we played hooky? I’ll order pizza. I’ll even get it with pineapple.”_ _ _

_ _ _“Don’t be ridiculous. You’d never give any ground in that debate.” _ _ _

_ _ _Jon smiled at her lazily, but Sansa could see the apprehension behind his eyes. “I hate these things,” he murmured after a long moment. _ _ _

_ _ _Sansa set down her curling iron and turned to face him. “Go get dressed,” she said softly. “It’ll be over before you know it. And then I’ll be holding you to your promise of Hawaiian pizza.” _ _ _

_ _ _Jon groaned again but pushed off the wall. “Yes, your majesty.”_ _ _

_ _ _“Shut up.”_ _ _

_ _ _“Of course, your highness.” _ _ _

_ _ _***** _ _ _

_ _ _ **May 1, 2016  
New York, New York** _ _ _

_ _ _Sansa had been hoping to impress Jon with her dress. _ _ _

_ _ _She wasn’t disappointed. _ _ _

_ _ _He’d impatiently called for her three times by the time Sansa finally left her room. At the sound of her heels on the hardwood, Jon turned with a scowl on his face that melted away the minute his eyes landed on her. _ _ _

_ _ _And oh, Sansa knew Jon Snow. _ _ _

_ _ _Most importantly, Sansa knew what Jon Snow looked like when he wanted her. _ _ _

_ _ _She’d have to find a way to thank Petyr again for the dress one day. _ _ _

_ _ _“Sorry I’m late,” she said with feigned sincerity. “I couldn’t find my other shoe.”_ _ _

_ _ _“That’s… don’t… um, it’s fine. Edd is out front. You, um, you look nice.” Jon rubbed the back of his neck and it took all of Sansa’s willpower not to smirk at the way he was avoiding her exposed shoulders. _ _ _

_ _ _“You think so? I wasn’t sure it would do for this kind of event, but it’s the best I could find.” _ _ _

_ _ _He coughed and looked away, hand clenching and unclenching in a dead giveaway she remembered so well. “It’s… it’s fine. It’s good, I mean. You’ll, uh… you’ll fit right in.”_ _ _

_ _ _“Good,” Sansa said cheerily, grabbing her coat from the counter. “You look nice too.”_ _ _

_ _ _He did. _God, Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, he did._. Mouthwateringly good. Jon had cleaned up well indeed. He’d swapped his sweatshirt for a tux and even managed to wrangle his messy curls into a sophisticated, slicked-back style. It wasn’t the first time Sansa had seen him in a tux, but he was a vision all the same._ _ _

_ _ _“Thanks,” Jon mumbled, hand already fumbling at the door handle. _ _ _

_ _ _When her hand brushed along the small of his back as she passed him, Sansa pretended not to notice the cold, hard feel of the gun hidden there. _ _ _

_ _ _***** _ _ _

_ _ _ **May 1, 2016  
New York, New York** _ _ _

_ _ _It took Sansa all of thirty seconds to figure out just why Jon hated these things so much. _ _ _

_ _ _He’d never been one for ostentation; never been a heavy drinker. He had his vices – she certainly knew those – but the plastered glitz and glamor of New York’s high (criminal) society was just so _not_ Jon. _ _ _

_ _ _Her father and brother and uncles all wore Italian suits; Jon had always opted for dark jeans and black or grey sweaters. _ _ _

_ _ _She gazed at the man on her arm, who currently was looking around the room with a vaguely distasteful grimace on his handsome face that twisted his scar in a strange way. “Stop that,” Sansa muttered, tugging on his arm at the elbow. “They’ll all think you hate them.”_ _ _

_ _ _Jon scoffed. “They all _know_ I hate them.”_ _ _

_ _ _She rolled her eyes but said nothing, letting Jon lead them to one of the vast ballroom’s many bars. The event was in a high rise overlooking Central Park and was practically dripping in money – jewels on women’s necks and in their ears, golden rings and cufflinks and watches on the men, designer suits and couture cocktail dresses, overflowing champagne and endless arrays of overpriced and undersized finger foods that hardly anyone touched. _ _ _

_ _ _It was the kind of event that would have dazzled her when she was a teenager, but Sansa saw the ugliness under the veneer now. She knew where the money came from; knew what it cost. _ _ _

_ _ _The events she’d gone to in LA made her sick too, but this was revolting. _ _ _

_ _ _“Stop that,” Jon whispered in a mocking tone. Sansa glared up at him, an eyebrow raised in question. He handed her a champagne flute and ordered a gin and tonic before smirking down at her. “They’ll all think you hate them.”_ _ _

_ _ _Sansa rolled her eyes again and leaned into Jon, taking a long sip of the bubbling alcohol. “So, who do we need to schmooze, boss?”_ _ _

_ _ _“Don’t call me that.”_ _ _

_ _ _“I’m serious. We’re here on business, right? I’m your eye candy, so let’s go show me off.”_ _ _

_ _ _She started to walk into the fray, but Jon’s hand wrapped around her arm and tugged her back. “Hey,” he murmured, voice low in the loud room. “You aren’t just my eye candy. You know that I think more of you than that.” Jon’s eyes were deep and dark and so full of sincerity and gravity that they burned. _ _ _

_ _ _Something pulled deep in her, tugging her towards him like the tide towards the rocky shore. Sansa swallowed. “Be that as it may,” she started, clearing her throat when it came out a little too gravelly. “I don’t know the first thing about Family politics right now – until you find the time to catch me up, I’m your arm candy.”_ _ _

_ _ _Jon’s gaze bore into her for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice was heavy. “You really want to do this, Sans? You really want to be a part of it?”_ _ _

_ _ _Before she could answer, they were interrupted by a small cough. Turning away from Jon’s heated stare, Sansa settled her eyes on the old woman before them. _ _ _

_ _ _“Mrs. Tyrell,” Jon said with a blatantly fake air of cheeriness. “What a pleasure.”_ _ _

_ _ _“Oh Jon, dear, how many times must I tell you to call me Olenna. Mrs. Tyrell is my daughter-in-law’s name." _ _ _

_ _ _And so, it began. _ _ _

_ _ _The next two hours passed in a blur. Between cocktails and hors d'oeuvres, Sansa worked the room like a charm. The names were mostly familiar – some painfully familiar – and each time a new hand was extended, always paired with a curious glance when Jon mentioned her name, Sansa cataloged it, along with all the things they did and did not say. Every ruby gilded finger made her wonder at how the hands she shook had been bloodied; every emerald cufflink made her wonder how the suits she saw had been afforded. But whenever it felt like too much – like too deep a dive into the world her family had inhabited for a century – Sansa looked up at Jon’s familiar face, stony and sincere and inviting and threatening all at once; she felt his warmth next to her and caught the glint of his golden ring. It grounded her. It reminded her why she’d come tonight. _ _ _

_ _ _She was a Stark goddamnit. And she was tired of running. Tired of worrying about her family. Tired of being tired of it all. _ _ _

_ _ _As the night progressed, Sansa’s despise for the hands she shook grew and her fake laughter sharpened at the edges. By the time Tyrion Lannister found his way to her and Jon, her patience was at an end. _ _ _

_ _ _It appeared Jon’s was as well. _ _ _

_ _ _Sansa had just delivered one of her better snide remarks of the night, airily dismissing Tyrion with an innocently impassionate sip at her vodka cranberry, when Jon snatched the drink of out her hand and dropped it carelessly onto a table. “What the hell?” she began, before her protest was cut off by his grip on her arm as he tugged her out of the room and into the hall. _ _ _

_ _ _“I wasn’t finished with that drink, Jon! I wasn’t finished with Tyrion either!”_ _ _

_ _ _“Shut up.”_ _ _

_ _ _“_Excuse you?_” Sansa seethed. “I came here for _you_, and you dare to-”_ _ _

_ _ _“_Shut up, Sans,_” Jon growled tugged her into a side hallway, far from the bustle of the party. _ _ _

_ _ _“Jon – what the hell are you –” _ _ _

_ _ _Suddenly her back was against the wall as Jon’s mouth slanted down onto hers hungrily. Her surprised gasp quickly turned to a moan when he slid his tongue against hers, his hands pulling her hips roughly against his own. He tasted like gin and smoke and _Jon_ and oh God, how she’d missed _this_. In an instant, Sansa’s hands were tugging at his lapels as if she could somehow bring him closer to her than he already was. Before she knew it, Jon’s attention had shifted to her jaw, and then her neck. It reminded her of those late nights he’d come home that last summer she’d been in New York – when he’d text her to meet him and she’d find him in his little studio above the stable, shirt bloodied and face bruised, and he’d barely hesitate a second before pinning her against the wall or on his desk or on the bed. _ _ _

_ _ _Jon’s hands slipped to her thighs and began to climb up her skin, pushing the skirt of her satin cocktail dress up with them. “So,” she panted against his ear as her fingers dug into his curls ruining the effort he’d made to make them tidy. “What happened to this not happening?” _ _ _

_ _ _She hissed when he nipped at her pulse. His fingers were playing with the lace of her panties now and Sansa was half mortified they were doing _this_ in public and half praying for him to just drag the damn piece of clothing down her legs. His lips met her own again – sloppy and hungry and so very intoxicating. When Jon pulled away to let them catch their breath, he rested his forehead on her own and let his fingers smooth back and forth over the skin of her hips. _ _ _

_ _ _“This shouldn’t be happening,” he muttered, sounding wrecked. “But the way you put that ass in his place – and this damn dress.” Jon groaned. “This shouldn’t be happening.”_ _ _

_ _ _“Why not?” She moaned as Jon pulled her into another rough kiss. “I’m in the business now, aren’t I? What does it matter?” _ _ _

_ _ _At that Jon stilled. His hands left her skin, allowing her skirt to fall once more. They came to rest on her cheeks as he pulled far enough away to gaze down at her – face drawn and serious all of a sudden. “It matters, Sans. If you were to be targeted because of me – God. It’s my worst nightmare.”_ _ _

_ _ _She reached up to smooth her thumb over his swollen bottom lip. “We’ve snuck around before.”_ _ _

_ _ _“I don’t want to have to sneak around with you,” he sighed, bending to press a sweet, chaste kiss to the corner of her mouth. _ _ _

_ _ _“So, what then? It’s all or nothing?” _ _ _

_ _ _He looked pained. “I don’t know.”_ _ _

_ _ _Rolling her eyes, Sansa pushed him off of her. _ _ _

_ _ _“Sansa-”_ _ _

_ _ _“Don’t,” she told him, adjusting her dress and hair. “You can’t just pull me out into the hall and do _that_ to me and then sit here and say this can’t happen. You can’t say it’s all or nothing and has to be nothing but think you can still string me along.”_ _ _

_ _ _His eyes widened. “I’m not trying to string you along.”_ _ _

_ _ _“Oh, so you make out with every girl you’re determined not to sleep with?”_ _ _

_ _ _She watched through narrowed eyes as his jaw tightened. “I knew you coming tonight was a bad idea.”_ _ _

_ _ _Sansa scoffed. “You not being able to keep it in your pants is not my fault, Jon Snow.” With that, she turned and walked back to the party, making a beeline for the bar. Like the smart man he was, Jon stayed away from her for the better part of the night. _ _ _

_ _ _In the end, it was she who sought him out. _ _ _

_ _ _After all, as frustrated as she was with him, she still cared deeply about Jon. So, naturally, when the brand new Attorney General walked into the room arm in arm with Daenerys Targaryen and followed closely by Viserys, Aegon, and Rhaenys Targaryen, Sansa sought out the only other Targaryen at the event – the one she knew had spent his life trying to forget that his father was the son and would-be heir of the infamous “Mad King,” whose cruelty and recklessness brought down what had once been the most powerful crime family in United States’ history. The family who had been enemies of the Starks for a century. The family that was rumored to have been behind the death of Brandon Stark decades before. _ _ _

_ _ _A strange hush fell over the crowd as everyone noticed the newcomers. Though it had been years since the few remaining Targaryens had been in New York, their family’s distinctive pale hair, strange violet eyes, and sharp features were hard to mistake. Besides, despite their move to Vegas with some lesser member of Aerys’s inner circle back when the family of _fire and blood_ burned to the ground and bled out in the street, all four had made names for themselves in the casino industry and in philanthropy. To put it simply, anyone who was _anyone_ in the New York mob circuit knew a Targaryen on sight. _ _ _

_ _ _In a heartbeat, Sansa was by Jon’s side. “Are you alright?” she whispered, clutching his arm. Jon’s stormy eyes were locked on the newcomers. His mouth was set in a grim line. _ _ _

_ _ _“Nobody said they were coming,” he muttered. Sansa watched as he downed his gin and tonic. “Nobody said they were even in New York.” _ _ _

_ _ _Slowly, the talking started up again as the Targaryens and Jon Connington melded into the crowd, but Sansa didn’t take her eyes off Jon. He tracked the movement of his family through the room with his gaze. Sansa tugged on his jacket sleeve, urging him to look down at her instead. “You’re as good as a Stark, Jon,” she whispered, remembering the late-night confessions he’d made to her years ago. Remembering how much he hated the father he’d never known. The family he’d never truly been a part of. “You are the head of the Stark Family – this doesn’t change that.”_ _ _

_ _ _He looked at her for a long moment. “Sansa, this changes _everything_.”_ _ _

_ _ _She frowned, but before she could respond a man cleared his throat. “Mr. Snow, I presume?”_ _ _

_ _ _Both she and Jon turned at the same moment. The brand-new attorney general stood before them, a worn smile forcing its way across his stony features. Somewhere in the back of her mind, Sansa remembered that her father had never liked the Targaryen’s old consigliere. How’d he had managed to put this election in his pocket was a mystery to her. He hadn’t been the Lannister choice, nor had he been the Stark choice._ _ _

_ _ _Jon nodded beside her. “Attorney General,” he greeted, reaching out to shake the man’s hand. _ _ _

_ _ _Sansa plastered a sweet smile on her face hoping it would make up for Jon’s icy tone. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said, pulling Jon Connington’s eyes to her. “I’m Sansa Stark.”_ _ _

_ _ _“Ah, the daughter of Eddard Stark?”_ _ _

_ _ _“Yes, did you know him?” She knew the answer, but she also knew that you could learn more by playing dumb sometimes. What she needed to know – what Jon needed to know – was whether this man was going to be a friend to the Family. _ _ _

_ _ _Connington looked into his drink with a grimace. “Professionally, yes. Though I can’t say we were _well_ acquainted.” Suddenly he glanced up at Jon. “_Your_ father, however, was one of my closest friends.”_ _ _

_ _ _“I never knew the man.”_ _ _

_ _ _Sansa let her arm loop through Jon’s. She could feel the anger and discomfort rolling off of him in waves. His birth had always been a touchy subject, and Sansa could easily imagine what was going through his mind. _ _ _

_ _ _“No,” Connington sighed. “I suppose not. Everything fell apart just as you were born. Then of course he was killed not long after.”_ _ _

_ _ _Jon scoffed. “That, and my mother wasn’t his wife. You know as well as I that I was not a welcome addition.”_ _ _

_ _ _At that Connington frowned. “He was happy for your birth.”_ _ _

_ _ _Sansa felt Jon tense, no doubt about to share some choice words with the new Attorney General, and she knew well enough that making enemies with the most powerful law enforcement agent in the city was not a particularly wise choice. “Congratulations on your election,” she interjected before Jon could speak. “I was away at the time, but I’ve heard it was quite the upset.”_ _ _

_ _ _If Connington was startled by her sudden change in topic, he didn’t let it show. “Thank you. It was rather unexpected, but after Kevan Lannister dropped out I suppose it all turned around.” _ _ _

_ _ _Sansa schooled her face. She hadn’t known the Lannister candidate was actually a Lannister. She also hadn’t known he dropped out. If she wanted to enter this world _she had to do more research_. She had to be the smartest person in the room. _ _ _

_ _ _“I had no idea you took an interest in politics,” Jon said, voice somewhat more neutral than it had been moments before. _ _ _

_ _ _Connington shrugged in a strange, clipped sort of way. “I’ve been back in New York for a number of years now working as a district attorney. I suppose it felt like the right step for my career. I knew it was a long shot given my prior connections, but apparently that didn’t matter too much.”_ _ _

_ _ _Sansa could have laughed. If Jon Connington had thought his connections to the Targaryen crime syndicate would harm him, he certainly would not have welcomed back the remaining family weeks after his election in this very public setting. Not to mention, a man wanting to distance himself from organized crime wouldn’t attend a function filled with every major and minor Boss in town. No, Jon Connington had his hand in someone’s pocket. Someone important. Someone who swayed an election to put him where he was – and she was willing to bet that person wasn’t a Lannister judging by the way Cersei was glaring daggers at Connington behind his back. _ _ _

_ _ _Jon seemed to think the same thing. _ _ _

_ _ _“You mean those connections you brought as guests tonight?”_ _ _

_ _ _She’d respect his directness if it didn’t worry her so much. _ _ _

_ _ _Connington only smiled though. “Ah, the kids are like my own kids. They’ve been itching to leave Las Vegas and come home, the timing simply aligned perfectly. Aegon’s bought property in Atlantic City. Construction starts on the first Targaryen casino there next month. Another Valaryian, though naturally smaller than the one in Vegas.”_ _ _

_ _ _Sansa made eye contact with Cersei as the older woman started to push through the crowd, moving towards them. Her grip on Jon’s arm tightened. _ _ _

_ _ _“Jon Connington, I don’t believe I’ve had the opportunity to congratulate you.”_ _ _

_ _ _Connington spun to meet Cersei as she came to a stop beside him. “Mrs. Baratheon,” he nodded. “Thank you.”_ _ _

_ _ _Cersei laughed. The sound was beautiful as it was disconcerting. “You should thank my uncle for dropping out of the race.” Before Connington could reply, the blonde had turned her attention to Jon and Sansa. When Cersei’s emerald eyes lingered on where their arms were linked Sansa felt as if there were snakes writhing in her belly. “Jon, it must be so lovely to see your _family_ again.” Jon opened his mouth to respond but Cersei cut him off. “Oh, but that’s right – you haven’t met them before, have you? Oh, Attorney General,” she turned back to Connington with a feline smile. “You’ll have to introduce dear Jon to his siblings and his aunt and uncle. Don’t you think, Sansa? I’m sure you _Starks_ are positively _thrilled_ that Jon’s family has returned to the city.”_ _ _

_ _ _As luck would have it, Daenerys Targaryen happened to walk back at that very moment, her nephew Aegon by her side. _ _ _

_ _ _“Dany, Aegon,” Connington called, hailing them down. _ _ _

_ _ _Sansa had seen pictures of all the Targaryens. Everyone had. They were rich and elegant and amassed huge following on social media – it was impossible to know American pop culture and not know the name Targaryen, though these days it seemed like the world had forgotten where the family actually made their name: in the streets of New York profiting off of arson based insurance claims. _ _ _

_ _ _So yes, Sansa had seen the pictures. She knew that Jon had the same hard jaw as his half-brother. He knew that his dark curls were just like Rhaenys’s, the only other Targaryen to not have the family’s trademark silver-blonde hair. She knew Daenerys was beautiful and that almost all of her friends in Malibu had wanted to sleep with Viserys. _ _ _

_ _ _But seeing a picture and seeing a person is different. _ _ _

_ _ _Daenerys Targaryen, simply put, was stunning. There was an aura of regality around her that was enticing. Within an instant, Sansa wanted to hate her as much as she wanted to love her. _ _ _

_ _ _Aegon Targaryen could not have looked more like Jon’s opposite – light hair and light eyes and a white linen suit that looked like it cost more than one of his casinos made in a night. There was a smile on his lips that made Sansa think he was the kind of man who believed the world was one big joke. _ _ _

_ _ _“Dany, Aegon,” Connington continued, once the Targaryens had joined their circle. “Let me introduce to you to Cersei Baratheon, Sansa Stark, and this man – Jon Snow, Rhaegar’s youngest.”_ _ _

_ _ _Both Aegon and Dany’s eyes immediately lit up in recognition, but Dany beat her nephew to the punch. “Jon!” she exclaimed in a silky, husky voice that sounded the way a summer day felt. “Oh, we’ve heard so much about you. It is so lovely to finally meet you.”_ _ _

_ _ _Jon was stiff as a corpse beside her, but when Daenerys extended her hand, Jon shook it. Then, to both his and Sansa’s shock, Jon was tugged from her arm as his aunt pulled him by their joined hands into a hug. The woman was beaming when they parted – her teeth perfect and bright. _ _ _

_ _ _“Jon,” Aegon said then, with a funny little smirk. “I did always want a brother. As a boy I was bitter you were the one who stayed in New York instead of my sister.” He and Jon shook hands as well while Daenerys rolled her eyes at her nephew’s comment. _ _ _

_ _ _“Raehnys and Viserys are somewhere around here,” she told Jon, peering around the room. “The five of us will have to go to dinner soon – we want to know all about you. Oh, it is so exciting to have the whole family together in one place.”_ _ _

_ _ _Jealously began to bubble in Sansa’s throat, and before she knew it her hand was finding its way back to the crook of Jon’s elbow, pulling him closer as if staking her claim. Jon had been with the Starks since he was _ten_. Jon had practically been raised by Eddard Stark. Jon was the head of the Stark Family. Yes, they might not share _blood_ (and thank God for that) but he was a part of the family, not just the Family. _ _ _

_ _ _It was only when Daenerys’s eyes latched onto where Sansa had drawn Jon closer that the other woman seemed to notice her. “It’s lovely to meet you as well,” the Targaryen smiled. “Uncle Jon has told us all about the Starks. It was so kind of your father to take little Jon in when he was a boy. I wish we had been closer then – that we could have done more to help him after his mother passed.”_ _ _

_ _ _“Nonsense,” Sansa said, smiling just as brilliantly despite the fact she felt ill. “You were just children as well, and my father and Jon’s mother were old childhood friends. He was Jon’s godfather, in fact. It was only right that he come to Winterfell.” _ _ _

_ _ _“Oh yes,” Cersei smirked at Sansa before turning to Daenerys and Aegon. “Why the Starks have quite adopted your Jon into their family. Now more than ever, in fact. Since Sansa’s poor brother passed, Jon had been handling the family’s affairs.”_ _ _

_ _ _“We were terribly sorry to hear about the death of your brother,” Aegon told Sansa, his face oozing with sympathy. She wanted to ask him how’d he had even known and why he’d cared when he was still off in Vegas – but by then the reason was obvious. In a way, she’d known it since the moment the Targaryens entered the room. _ _ _

_ _ _They were making a play to once again establish themselves in the city. Jon Connington was their path there and they hoped Jon – who was technically one of them – would be their key to unlocking the gate._ _ _

_ _ _“Yes,” Jon grit out, his dark eyes fixed on Cersei. “Robb’s death was quite terrible.” He turned his gaze to the rest of their small circle. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, Sansa and I should really be going.”_ _ _

_ _ _Cersei failed to hide a grin when Daenerys’s and Aegon’s faces fell. “You will come to dinner with us soon though, Jon?” Aegon asked. “Our sister is dying to meet you. Frankly, I think she’s just excited to meet another Targaryen with dark hair,” he laughed. _ _ _

_ _ _Jon nodded tightly. “I’m sure the Attorney General has my number somewhere. We’ll be in touch.”_ _ _

_ _ _“It was lovely to meet you, Sansa,” Daenerys smiled. _ _ _

_ _ _Sansa made herself widen her smile a bit more. “You as well! The two of us will need to grab a coffee sometime, I’d love to hear all about your work with refugees.”_ _ _

_ _ _“Oh, you’ve heard of that?”_ _ _

_ _ _“Oh course!” Sansa said. “You’re just as famous here as you are back west.” Then, with one final glance as Cersei, Sansa let Jon lead her away and right out the doors into the hall that they’d made out in a mere hour before. It felt like a lifetime ago. _ _ _

_ _ _Jon dropped her arm and leaned against the wall, his eyes closed tight. _ _ _

_ _ _“Are you okay?” she asked him quietly. _ _ _

_ _ _She watched him swallow thickly. When he opened his eyes again, the anger was gone. He just looked sad now – and so very much like that little boy who’d first come to the Stark home and refused to talk to anyone for a week. _ _ _

_ _ _“Come on,” she muttered, grabbing his hand and dragging him to the elevators. _ _ _

_ _ _***** _ _ _

_ _ _ **May 2, 2016  
New York, New York** _ _ _

_ _ _Twenty minutes later they were sitting in a small café a few blocks over nursing hot chocolates. Jon had grumbled that he’d rather just have his usual black coffee, but it was already nearly midnight and Sansa refused to let him have caffeine. “_Sleep, Jon,” she’d told him. “You _need_ it.”__ _ _

_ _ _ _So, there they were, sitting across from each other, neither one mentioning the elephant in the room. The four elephants in the room. _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _Sansa let her foot tap against Jon’s ankle under the table. “It doesn’t have to change anything,” she finally said when his moping got to be too much for her to handle. “Robb named you, Uncle Howland and Uncle Ben back you, and so do my family and I. You’re one of _us_, Jon.” _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _He nodded, staring solemnly into his mug. _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _“It doesn’t matter who your father was,” Sansa added softly. “All that matters are who you are and who you want to be.”_ _ _ _

_ _ _ _Jon sighed and pushed his chair back, holding out a hand to her. “Come on, Sans. Let’s go.”_ _ _ _

_ _ _ _They slid into the car Edd had waiting outside and within minutes they were back in the safehouse they’d gotten ready in that afternoon. “It’s easier than going all the way back,” Jon had shrugged when the car stopped. Frankly, Sansa was glad he’d chosen to stay in the city. She didn’t think being back at the Stark compound would be very helpful right after meeting the family he’d never known, but always dreaded knowing. _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _They parted in the hall upstairs; Jon going to his room, and Sansa to her own. She took her time undressing and showering; letting the hot water pelt her skin for nearly half an hour as she stood in the steam, lost in thought. Why had the Targaryens come back _now_? If they were so eager to know Jon – to pull him back into his blood family, why didn’t they reach out before now?_ _ _ _

_ _ _ _Had they reached out before now?_ _ _ _

_ _ _ _Slowly, Sansa dropped down and hugged her knees. There was just so much she didn’t know about Jon. So much she didn’t know about the Family or where things stood or what had happened over the last five years. What if Jon wasn’t upset because his Targaryen father was suddenly relevant again? What if it wasn’t out of fear that he wouldn’t be welcomed by the Starks anymore – what if he _wanted_ to be a Targaryen? _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _She felt sick – like some vine was creeping through her chest and winding its way around her heart. _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _Jon _loved_ the Starks. He wouldn’t leave them – would he? _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _Then an even more upsetting thought struck her. _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _But no. No. No, no, no. _ _ _ _

_ _ _ __He wouldn’t bring the Starks under the fold of the Targaryen’s._ Never. _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _Finally, Sansa stood and turned off the shower, wringing her long, auburn hair as best she could before drying off. She slipped into the pajamas she’d brought with her – one of Robb’s old shirts and some sleep shorts – and laid in the clean bed, looking around at the sparse, utilitarian room. It felt cold and empty and Sansa couldn’t stop thinking about the way that Aegon and Daenerys had looked at Jon. _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _She couldn’t stop thinking about the similarities she noted in their faces and Jon’s. _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _How Aegon had been the same height as his estranged brother. _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _How Rhaenys was excited to have a brother with her dark hair. _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _Sansa wasn’t dumb, nor was she naïve to her own emotions. She recognized that snake writhing in her belly as jealousy – but why she should be jealous of his _siblings_ made no sense. She didn’t consider herself Jon’s sister in any sense. But then again, he was family. As much a part of the family as Jeyne or Uncle Howland. Robb had called him brother – Arya, Bran, and Rickon still treated him like one. He lived in the big house and he kissed Mama on the cheek when he came home. _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _He was the Stark’s. _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _Her was her’s._ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _Except he wasn’t. _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _With a huff, Sansa threw back the covers and slipped out of bed. She hesitated only a moment before opening the door to Jon’s room. The room was dark, illuminated only faintly by the city outside the windows. Sansa could see his form in the bed – watched as he sat up and turned towards the door. “What’s wrong?”_ _ _ _

_ _ _ _She didn’t answer. She just crossed the room and pulled back the covers and slid into the bed. _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _“Sansa,” Jon murmured. “What are you doing?”_ _ _ _

_ _ _ _Still not answering, she pushed him back down onto the mattress and snuggled close to his side, resting her hand on his stomach and her head on his shoulder. Slowly, Jon melted into her embrace, his own hands coming to hold her against him at her shoulder and lay gently atop her fingers on his stomach. _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _“It’s okay, you know,” Sansa whispered, hating the tears she could feel in her eyes. _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _“What?”_ _ _ _

_ _ _ _“If you want to meet them. If you want to have a relationship with them. They’re your family.”_ _ _ _

_ _ _ _Jon was silent for a long time, but his hands didn’t leave her. Finally, after she was nearly convinced he’d just fallen asleep, he responded to her. _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _“Your family is my family. You’re my family.”_ _ _ _

_ _ _ _“Not in the same way,” she murmured against the soft cloth of his shirt. _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _“No,” Jon agreed. He pulled her closer then, so much so that she was practically on top of him, and pressed a kiss to her hairline. “You’re the family that chose me, and the family I chose. You’re better.” _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _She waited a beat before asking the question that had been on her mind since her shower. “Had you spoken to them at all before tonight?”_ _ _ _

_ _ _ _Jon sighed. “Dany and I exchanged a few emails a couple years ago. Rhaenys and Aegon used to send me birthday cards when I was a kid – before I moved in with you all. I know there was some talk back then of me moving out to Vegas with them and my great uncle, Aemon, but my mom trusted your dad more. She didn’t want me to leave New York. She didn’t want me to have to deal with too big of a change when she died.”_ _ _ _

_ _ _ _They fell into silence again, listening the cars outside. _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _“It doesn’t have to change anything,” Sansa finally told him, just as she was nodding off into sleep. But in her heart, she knew that it did. _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _***** _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ **May 10, 2016  
Winterfell, New York** _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _Robb Timothy Stark Jr. was baptized on a rainy Sunday morning in the same church where his father had been baptized decades before. The same church where a memorial service had been held for his father less than a year before. _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _Sansa wept through the ceremony, grateful for the warmth of Jon’s hand at her back, and when she renounced Satan she couldn’t help but avoid his eyes. _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _When he renounced Satan, Jon made a point of meeting hers. _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _*****_ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ **May 30, 2016  
Winterfell, New York** _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _News that the Targaryens were back spread quickly. Both among the Families and through the media. It wasn’t long before articles were seemingly popping up everywhere about the infamous Targaryens moving to New York – the new Valyrian Casino in Atlantic City; the charity that Rhaenys and Daenerys were founding in Manhattan; the playboy antics of Viserys. _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _Every social interaction Sansa had for the next month was clouded by the name Targaryen, and with each passing day she could see the toll it was taking on Jon. _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _At first, Sansa had thought that while, yes, obviously the Targaryens returning would stir up some of the old mistrust some of her father’s men had towards Jon. The same strange looks and pursed lips that had been common when the ten-year-old boy was welcomed into the Stark home and treated like a son of the Boss. But Sansa had been sure that would fake quickly enough. As soon as it became clear Jon had no interest in rebuilding the fallen Targaryen glory, surely any doubts would be set aside. After all, Jon had been with the Starks for nearly two decades and had been _named_. ___ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _But it didn’t stop. _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _Sansa continued to see the looks and the pursed lips; continued to watch the bags under Jon’s eyes grow darker; continued to see the knowing glances at the events she attended in the city with Jon or Mama or Ben. _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _Three times now, she’d passed by Jon’s study and seen him in a heated discussion with one of her uncles or another close associate. Their voices were always low and harsh and made fear grip her heart. _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _And then, one night, she overheard Mama and Uncle Ben having a conversation that made her feel as if ice has been poured over her skin. _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _She’d been up with baby Robb for hours, letting Jeyne sleep for once, and decided to indulge in a glass of wine before bed. It was 1:00am, so Sansa hadn’t expected anyone to be up. She knew Jon would be in the city that night, which meant it was unlikely any of the men would be coming home anytime soon. But when she turned towards the kitchen, there was a light spilling from the archway. Normally, this wouldn’t have fazed her, but before she could step into the light Sansa heard something that made her stop in her tracks. _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _“- trust him. I’ve done my best, Cat, but apparently some of them want him removed. There’s only one way to do that.”_ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _Sansa’s heart was in her throat. She pressed herself against the wall beside the entrance to the kitchen. _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _“They wouldn’t,” Mama said fiercely. “They wouldn’t _dare_. Who would even take his place? You don’t want it, and I won’t let Bran step in.”_ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _Uncle Ben sighed. “The Karstarks have a mind that they’re better suited to run the Family.”_ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _“Oh please,” Mama scoffed. “They’re barely Starks by blood. They’ve milked that cow for all its worth.”_ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _“I’m serious, Cat. The boy is in danger. I’ve done as much damage control as I can but it’s hard to fight these old rivalries.”_ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _“It’s _your_ brother who was killed because of the damned Targaryens. Ned’s brother. Why should anyone care if _we_ of all people have accepted Jon with open arms?”_ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _“The blood feud is older than that and you know it. For seventy years Targaryens and Starks were killing each other – my father managed to secure some peace, but generations of violence and hate don’t just melt away overnight.”_ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _Mama was silent for a long while. “They accepted him before.”_ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _“Because he had nothing to gain by his Targaryen heritage. Now he does.”_ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _“So what, if he leaves to help his siblings, don’t they get what they want? A new Boss?”_ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _“It’s not that simple, Cat.”_ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _Mama sighed. “I know. Christ, I know.”_ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _“There is some concern he’ll bring the Stark investments under the wings of the Targaryens now too.”_ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _“Jon would never. Eddard raised him to -”_ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _“You and I know that, Cat, but our faith in him isn’t enough. And he knows it. The poor boy is miserable.”_ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _“So what can we do?”_ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _“I don’t know. I don’t know what more I can do. I’ve told him everything – he knows his power is slipping. That loyalty is wavering. At least he’s been warned. Besides, more men are loyal than are disloyal. We’ll just have to ride this out I guess.”_ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _“I won’t put another boy in the ground, Ben. It will kill me. Ned loved him like a son. I won’t do it again.”_ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _“I know, Cat,” Uncle Ben sighed sadly. “I know.”_ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _Sansa crept back upstairs and curled on top of her covers in bed. It felt as if a great rock had been placed on her chest. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t stop picturing Jon’s funeral. She couldn’t stop remembering the night he’d come home bloodied and pale and been woven back whole by her mother on the kitchen island. _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _She _hated_ the Targaryens. _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _***** _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ **June 3, 2016  
Winterfell, New York** _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _The last person Sansa expected to walk through the door of Jeyne’s bakery was Jon Snow. _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _Yet there he was, hair tousled by the wind or maybe his fingers, wearing faded jeans and an old sweater. If she hadn’t known better, Sansa never would have guessed he led one of the country’s largest crime families. She never would have guessed the amount of money she knew he had. She never would have guessed that he’d killed and beaten men. _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _“Hey,” he greeted her with a little lopsided smile. _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _She couldn’t help but grin. “Hey. If you're looking to buy some more professional clothes, I think you meant to go to the store next door.”_ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _Jon rolled his eyes, but his smile widened. She watched him lean his forearms against the counter she stood behind and tried not to think about the conversation she’d overheard in the kitchen a few nights before. “I’m here to take a pretty girl to lunch.”_ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _Her heart stuttered for a moment. “I thought you didn’t want anyone to get any ideas about us.”_ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _Jon’s smile dropped a bit. He shrugged, messing with some sugar packets on the counter. “Nothing wrong with taking Robb’s little sister to lunch on a workday.”_ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _She held his gaze for a long moment before sighing. “I swear, you make no sense.”_ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _“I just want to talk to you, okay? I haven’t seen you much the past couple weeks and I thought it might be nice. Besides, the place across the street has lemon cakes for dessert.”_ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ “Oh, so now you’re trying to bribe me? You do realize we make lemon cakes here. I can and do have one whenever I want one.” She rolled her eyes at his boyish smirk. “Let me just let Jeyne know.”_ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _Fifteen minutes later they were sitting at a little Italian bistro across the street. _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _“So,” Sansa prompted as she roamed the menu. It was a fruitless search; she knew she would order the same thing she always did. She’d always had a weakness for carbonara. “You wanted to talk.”_ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _Jon sighed and put down his menu. “Yes. I... uh, well I think I’m going to meet my family.”_ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _She froze, a fear deep and primal clutching at her heart with ice-cold talons. “What?”_ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _Jon looked away from her and clenched his jaw, visibly nervous. “Dany reached out again and invited me to lunch. I accepted.”_ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _The conversation she’d overheard between Mama and Uncle Ben replayed like a horror scene in her mind. Suddenly she could see his blood again – just like that night in the kitchen when he’d come home with a bullet in his leg and there had been so so so so much blood. “Jon-” _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _“I know, I know,” Jon interrupted, voice hard and defensive. “I know what I’ve told you – that they aren’t really my family and that I don’t need them. And I don’t. I just… well, what is the harm in meeting them? Getting to know my siblings?”_ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _Sansa was quiet for a long moment. She wanted to support him. She did. _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _But God, she couldn’t lose him. _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _She sighed. “There is nothing wrong with wanting to know them, Jon.”_ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _Across from her, Jon visibly relaxed. _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _“You have to be careful though,” she continued, watching his frown deepen. “People might… well, they might take it the wrong way.”_ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _The frown became a grimace. “Ben’s talked to you then.” His voice was clipped. _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _Sansa sipped at her water. “No. But I did overhear a conversation between him and my mother. People are worried you’re going to hand over the Stark business to them.”_ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _Jon bit out a harsh, angry breath; his fingers tapped against the table in agitation. “Have I not demonstrated my loyalty to this Family over and over? I’ve kept my distance for a month from the Targaryens. I haven’t even spoken to them. This is just one lunch. I don’t plan on talking any business.” _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _Just then, the waiter came to take their order. Sansa’s stomach roiled in fear and agitation. She couldn’t imagine eating at the moment but muttered her order anyways when the time came. For a long moment after, they sat in silence; both fiddling with their phones or the table cloth or _anything_. _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _Finally, Jon broke the stalemate. “I know what they are saying, okay? I know what they think. But it isn’t true.”_ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _“I know it isn’t true, but-”_ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _“And they’ll see that. I’ll go to this lunch and that will be the end of it. I’m not transferring any investment or telling them _anything_. I’m just meeting them. For Christ’s sake, we’re practically strangers! I have enough to worry about with the Lannisters and Boltons. Have I not spent the last two decades serving the Starks?”_ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _Sansa pursed her lips and reached out to clasp Jon’s hand. His jaw was tight, his shoulders rigid. She could feel the agitation rolling off of him in waves. _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _“Nobody in the family – in our family – doubts your loyalty, Jon. People are just… there’s bad blood between the Targaryens and the Starks. There’s bad memories. It isn’t you they don’t trust-”_ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _“It’s my father’s blood. My blood. That's what they don't trust.”_ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _“Family is more than blood. Jon, if you want to meet them, then you should meet them. But you need to be careful. I’m sure things will die down after a while, but right now… the things I heard Uncle Ben telling Mama… I can’t…” Suddenly Sansa’s throat felt too tight. She gripped Jon’s hand, her eyes burning with tears. “I can’t lose you too.” _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _Jon’s brows furrowed as his eyes darkened. He turned over his hand to pull her fingers into his own. “Nothing is going to happen to me, Sans. I don’t know what you heard, but it’s a crock of shit.”_ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _She nodded, looking resolutely at her water and willing the tears not to fall. _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _“Hey,” Jon said softly, pulling her gaze back to him. “I’ll be okay. It’s just one lunch. Like I said, afterward, they’ll all see that I don’t have any intention of bringing them into the business. Besides, it wouldn’t hurt to have the Targaryens as allies against the Lannisters. They’ve got a fortune, and most importantly they have Connington in their pocket.” _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _Sansa frowned. “Jon, you just said you wouldn’t bring them in-”_ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _“And I won’t – not into our investments or formally into the Family. But I hardly think anyone could object to an alliance. It would be a major leg up on our enemies.” _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _“Uncle Ben said some of the men want to get rid of you.”_ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _Jon’s eyes became icy. “I know. He’s told me all the same. And he’s not the only one. But it’s a risk I’m willing to take.” _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _“How can you say that? How can you say that after all we’ve lost? Jon-”_ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _“Nothing is going to happen,” he interrupted, squeezing her hand. Sansa felt a tear slip to her cheek and brushed it away quickly. “It’s a lot of talk – and that’s it. Just a couple of the guys. Lower level associates who wouldn’t dare try shit. And if they think they’ll get any more support just because I have lunch with my siblings and my father’s siblings, they’re idiots.” Jon hesitated a moment before continuing. “I’m taking care of them tomorrow anyway. They won't be a concern anymore. You don’t need to worry.”_ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _Sansa bit her lip and looked away. She felt like she was going to be sick. _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _Naturally, that was when their food arrived. _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _They ate in silence; Sansa more pushing her pasta around than actually eating it. _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _As they waited for the check Jon broke the silence again. “I just wanted you to know. Since we talked about it. I thought it was right for you to know.”_ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _Sansa smiled sadly. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me, Jon. I’m just worried.”_ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _He nodded. “Well don’t be. It’s fine. I’ll be fine.”_ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _Fear still cut through her despite his words. Sansa took the arm Jon offered and let him walk her back to the bakery. They stopped out front, staring at each for a long moment before Jon sighed and looked away. “I’m sorry, Sansa.”_ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _“For what?”_ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _“I don’t know. I just am.” _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _Despite the fear in her heart, Sansa reached out and pulled him to her, burying her face in his sweater and weaving her fingers into the curls at the base of his skull. “Be careful,” she murmured against him. “Be careful.”_ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _*****_ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ **June 6, 2016  
Winterfell, New York** _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _It was one of those blessedly rare afternoons when Jon and her uncles were all at home. It had been a slow Sunday – one of those lazy, rainy June Sundays when nothing important seemed to happen at all. _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _Sansa took a small nap after church, changing into some sweatpants and one of Robb’s old hockey shirts, before making her way to the kitchen to fix a late lunch. She was interrupted by the warm rumble of laughter from the den. The sight that greeted her there filled her with pure warmth. Uncle Ben was reading in one of the big armchairs by the window while Jon was sprawled on the couch, little Robb in his arms gurgling happily as Jon played peek-a-boo with him. _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _“You should be careful,” Sansa told him, her sandwich utterly forgotten on the kitchen counter. “He’s going through a bit of a spit-up phase.” She rounded the couch and sat next to Jon, leaning into his warmth to brush finger over Robbie’s little hand. _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _“Ah, he wouldn’t dare throw up on me, would you little man?”_ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _Sansa giggled when the baby smiled up at Jon. “You two are disgusting.” _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _“You hear that, little man? Your godmother is jealous that you like me more.”_ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _She rolled her eyes. “Robbie, I pray that you don’t grow up to be as much of an ass as your godfather.”_ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _“Don’t curse in front of the baby, you’ll corrupt him.” _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _Sansa scoffed, letting herself lean into Jon a little more as she watched her nephew blink up at his godparents sleepily. “You wore him out,” she muttered as her head fell against Jon’s shoulder. _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _They were quiet for a long moment then, both watching the baby fall asleep as the rain tapped out a pattern on the window and Uncle Ben occasionally flipped a page of his book. _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _“I’ve been wondering where that shirt went,” Jon whispered as Robbie finally closed his eyes. _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _Startled, Sansa raised her head from his shoulder and looked up at him. “This was Robb’s.”_ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _Jon smiled and handed her Robbie. “It’s mine. Robb hated watching hockey. He only ever cared about football and basketball.”_ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _“Oh,” she muttered, cradling her nephew in her arms. "I grabbed it from the laundry room back in January. I just figured it had been his." Sansa could feel the blush spreading over her cheeks. It only got worse when Jon rested his long arm on the couch behind her and leaned into her space. “I can give it back to you if you want,” she told him. _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _“No, it looks better on you I think.”_ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _Her body burned where it touched his – their thighs pressed together, the side of his chest brushing against her breast, his arm nearly resting on her shoulders. A silence fell over them again, though this one was thicker with a tension they both ignored by once more staring at the baby. _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _“He looks like him,” Sansa said after the silence became too much for her to bear. _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _Jon pursed his lips. “He does. He looks like you.”_ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _Suddenly the vision of little boys with Jon’s curls and her crimson hair flooded her mind. Her chest felt tight all of a sudden, and it was too much to look at Robbie. When her eyes rose they landed on her uncle, who, to Sansa’s horror, was watching her and Jon with a small, knowing smile on his face. _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _When their gazes met, Uncle Ben’s smile grew a little wider before he turned back down to his book. _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _*****_ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ **June 13, 2016  
Winterfell, New York** _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _The day Jon died started normally. _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _Sansa hadn’t seen him in a week, but that morning he’d stopped by the big house for breakfast and to check in with Catelyn, Jeyne, Sansa and the boys. Mama had made his favorite – fried eggs and biscuits with sausage – while he played with little Robbie. He’d kissed the three women on the cheek and the boys on the head and was back out the door within an hour. _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _Jeyne and Sansa had spent the day at the bakery. It’d been slow, so they’d spent most of their time taking inventory and giggling about some local and some celebrity gossip. Promptly at 6pm they closed up and came home to join the rest of the family for dinner._ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _That night, Sansa had put Robbie down for Jeyne, then curled up in the library with her favorite Jane Austen novel. She didn’t even notice she’d left her phone on her bed earlier. _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _It was there in the library that Catelyn found her. Mama didn’t need to say anything for Sansa to know what had happened. Her mother’s face was white as a ghost, eyes already red with tears, and her hands shook where they held Sansa’s coat._ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ Her heart fell like stone. The world started to both spin and slip away – leaving her feeling as if nothing was actually real. _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _“Who?”_ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _Mama let out a strangled sob. “I’m so sorry, baby.”_ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _“Mama, _who_?” Sansa asked again, frantic. She pushed away from the chair and grabbed her coat from the sobbing woman. _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _“Jon. It’s Jon.”_ _ _ _ _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHHHHHHHH 
> 
> (im gonna drop a big ?spoiler? here because I want y’all to keep reading)
> 
> ((((((((((((((someone can medically die but be resuscitated and be okay)))))))))))))
> 
> Next chapter has everything: Murder intrigue, medical miracles, Theon????, confessions, quality hurt/comfort, a living person whose initial are J.S. 
> 
> (I'm sorry)


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